


And Get Burned

by ElfiesInk



Series: From the Ashes [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Other, Slow Burn, gender neutral reader, moderate angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 23:49:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 33,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16586654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElfiesInk/pseuds/ElfiesInk
Summary: You conjure fire. Summon it. You are it. Back in the day you were an elite agent of Blackwatch, responsible for disarming the enemies of Overwatch. You burned your way through countless enemy bases and in the end, you paid the price. They accused you of being a traitor, of being a monster. You were cast aside. Luckily you had a friend who never lost faith in you. Through Moira O’Deorain, you were able to get on your feet. You became Wrath, a mercenary known to provide your services to such wonderful members of the international community like the Vishkar Corporation and the city of Oasis. And with Talon reaching out, it looks like your career is about to be even more interesting.Sure, you burnt down a lot of their shit once upon a time, but that was entirely the fault of one Gabriel Reyes. And you held no lingering feelings for the man you loved, the man who threw you away. You won’t make any new friends in Talon, but you will start a few fires. And that’s just as good.





	1. You Fell Down

It was a personal affront to you that this motel didn’t have a fireplace. Even most hotels didn’t have them, you had to put out the big bucks and rent a suite too big for one person if you wanted to enjoy a small personal fireplace in your home away from home. Which was fucking rude. You didn’t need a penthouse view but you would certainly enjoy having an open flame in your space. You and fire got along quite well. It just sucked that you were in a motel. Waiting for your job to finally show up so you could take care of it and move on with your day.

Why were motels so great for scummy people? What was it about them that said hey, hey baby. Why don’t you come over here and do something fucking heinous. Come here and just be the terrible, disgusting person you know you are in the fucking inside. It was so, so easy to convince this man to meet you here. Like, it was clearly a shady place. There was a blood stain on the carpet. The walls were stained with a Goddamn Mystery. The only reason you felt any comfort in this room was the sweet knowledge that you were going to sleep in a normal bed that human beings slept in. One that wasn’t covered in a thousand different stains from 99 different people and one raccoon.

Maybe two raccoons.

Either way, it was the perfect place for meeting up with a complete slimeball. One wearing a suit that could pay someone’s mortgage and a face that could pay someone’s taco bell tab. It wasn’t great. His hair was greased down with the special sheen you could only get from your own natural brand and the smile on his face was enough to peel wallpaper. His services would be greatly appreciated in this hotel, the wallpaper was older than most of the city and by this point it had fused to the walls themselves. Regular methods could not remove it.

You opened the door and wrapped his tie around your hand, pulling him in after you. He politely closed the door behind you and attempted to go in for a hug. You declined traditional hug methods and instead chose to wiggle a filled syringe in front of his face. He cooed and brandished his arm and you delighted in the ease of your job. You slid the needle into his arm and watched as he promptly dropped to the ground. He probably should have thought this through. If you had a dollar for every person who just walked into one of your traps you’d be pissed. You charged a pretty penny for your services. Burning you was inadvisable. Thematically appropriate, yes, but also not a great idea.

You hummed to yourself, capping the syringe needle and gently tossing it into the room’s tiny plastic trash can. You picked up the man’s paralyzed body off the floor and arranged him onto the bed as comfortably as you could. He looked confused, as though he wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or not. It wasn’t. You needlessly double checked the door locks and then uncorked a bottle of bourbon. You lifted his head and shoved the bottle into his mouth, waiting for him to drink. A few ounces and you let him go, pouring some more over his chest and then sliding the bottle into his fingers.

It took him that long to realize that something was wrong. But there wasn’t much he could do with the paralyzing agent in his system. He made a few quiet groaning noises but no one was listening and if they were they didn’t care. He was a shitty shady man in a shitty shady motel. People would make assumptions about his activities and getting murdered wasn’t one of them. And if it was they cared even less than you did.

You didn’t know why he needed to die. You definitely didn’t know why he needed to die like this. It didn’t matter. You weren’t getting paid to ask questions, you were getting paid to light a cigarette and tuck it between his fingers in the same hand holding the booze. It wasn’t your regular job description, but the woman who asked you to do it was decent enough. She always had good snacks when you showed up to the lab and was never rude. So if she wanted you to set someone on fire for a hefty paycheck then what other details did you need?

You strolled around the room, pausing near bottles of liquor to arrange them in knocked over piles, scattering cigarette buds as you went. You didn’t technically need to do all of this, but the extra evidence was just part of what made your services ‘premium’. Plus if you weren’t going to do this with any sort of pageantry and show then what was the fucking point. You weren’t just a mercenary you were a god damn artist and you took pride in your work. Whatever happened to a sense of wonder and whimsy in the world? Nothing good, if the only one that had it was someone who fucked up people’s lives for a living.

The man had taken to one long, prolonged groan in an attempt to possibly annoy you into mercy. You dragged a flame close to his face, smiling at the slight red his skin took on from the heat. This was enough. There was no need to continue dragging this on when you could go get yourself something to eat. There were a few holes in the wall that were so bad they looped back around to good again.

You snapped your finger and the fading embers of the cigarette in his hand suddenly roared back into a small fire. It dove towards the liquor in his hand and devoured it. The fire began to rip into his skin and he couldn’t even scream. It didn’t feel particularly great. But it also wouldn’t particularly haunt you. You’d killed a lot of people in far worse ways than this. At least you let him have a drink before you started to burn him to death. Gave him some mild anesthetic. It didn’t block everything but at least his first few layers of skin wouldn’t hurt too much. It would be like, a whole bunch of cotton, if you were watching cotton eat you alive. Then it would get deeper and the pain would suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks. He would be completely aware of the fire as it destroyed him and he’d be completely unable to do anything more than wheeze. That is, until the smoke suffocated him. 

The flames followed your guidance, over his body, down the bedding, across the floor. They danced through the fallen alcohol and eagerly took over the furniture. The wood splintered and cracked under the intense heat that was building in the room. It felt good. You could feel the power of the flames in your bones. Light, beautiful, glorious. A power that wrapped around you; making you feel covered in strength and also excitedly buoyant. You took a breath and smelled the smoke and got the urge to dance and laugh. You settled for a chuckle and a little bit of a swish. You were nothing if not a fucking professional. And you really, really loved your job. 

You waited until the room was practically a solid wall of fire before just calmly walking out. For a second you thought of knocking on the doors as you walked away but, you decided not to. If they didn’t notice the actual fire raging through the building than, oops. Was that the wrong thing to do? Yeah. Yeah it probably was. A real shame that you were past trying to do the right thing. Such a great loss. Such a terrible tragedy.

Being a good person was old news. You’d been there, you’d done that, and all that you got out of it was. Well, that was in the past. You were better now. You had a stable career, you had cash, and you had burned away any traces of who you used to be. Both literally and figuratively. It took some favors and trades, and a lot of cash, and a lot of fucking stress, but the old you was gone. For good. 

Good riddance.

You didn’t need anything that you left behind. Or anyone. Besides, if they were worth your time then… Nah. It was better not to dwell on the past. Your best friend always told you not to be weighed down by things that don’t matter. You didn’t know where you would be if you didn’t have Moira O’Deorain on your side. Probably in prison. With you, it was generally prison. Maybe you would give yourself a little treat and burn one down during your next vacation. Or you could wait until a job required it and then get the sweet satisfaction of getting paid to do it. Life was full of hard choices.

Thinking about the past only served to piss you off anyway. You could always blow it off with a quote unquote wildfire. Oh no, look at it go, sweeping over the countryside. Someone get some water. Someone get a very large towel to smother it. Hurry now.

You absently flicked some fires onto a stray bush, watching it immediately soak up the fire and burn with a soft, steady crackle. The fire was so gentle seeming. Like a warm blanket wrapping itself around the dry leaves. You knew it wasn’t. The bush wouldn’t be there by the time the fire was done. It destroyed everything it touched, even if it took a little longer destroying some things than others. Even water was changed by fire, seared into steam by a furious dying grasp. Your lip curled into a sneer and the fire lifted higher into the air, teasing the bottom branches of a tree.

The sound of sirens broke you out of your reverie and reminded you to move on. Just because you craved the destruction of a prison didn’t mean you wanted to end up in one. All of your careful planning to keep your face off of any watch lists wasn’t going to go to waste tonight.

This is what happened when you didn’t schedule your jobs back to back. You got bored, and when you got bored you got pensive and destructive. It wasn’t the destruction that bothered you, you loved that part of it. It was mostly the thoughtfulness. You didn’t need to dwell on feelings and memories. You were better than that. You were a wealthy, well known, very popular mercenary. It was just your luck that your favorite employers were invested in keeping your identity off the radar. Mostly because they weren’t the type to share, but hey. What the fuck did you care. They could do whatever they want if they kept paying you.

Speak of the devil. Your phone went off as you stepped into the airport, their familiar logo glowing up at you from the screen.

“Mr. Korpal, how can I help you today?” You answered. You wouldn’t call him a friend, you fucking knew better, but you certainly enjoyed speaking with him. Not just because he gave you money though your alliance could certainly be bought. He respected you, your power, and your skill. It was enough that you didn’t harbor any desire to set him or Vishkar aflame. Not without the right price.

“Can you get out to Rio de Janeiro by tomorrow evening?” Sanjay was to the point, as always.

“I’ll get my ticket switched right now.” 

“Good. Information will be provided in the usual manner. The pay is double this time. There needs to be nothing left. And Wrath? Please assure the effect spreads.” And then he hung up, because ending politely was out of the question. But a look at your phone confirmed the tasty little bonus he was offering and that was good enough. You didn’t know why he kept making sure that you spread the flame. Vishkar always enjoyed the benefits of the fear a powerful fire can cause. And when people were scared and empty handed they were usually far more interested in obeying Vishkar’s rules. You rolled your eyes. Seemed excessive to you. And it was so much extra work on your behalf. You’d just have to reward yourself for all of that extra work with a nice hotel room. Something with a good view, and a fucking fireplace.


	2. A Burning Ring of Fire

Rio de Janiero was a beautiful city. 

It could be enjoyable if you allowed yourself to enjoy it. The beaches were natural wonders. Soft sand, cool waters. A thing to marvel at with your eyes and then feel with your skin. You rarely had the chance or inclination to feel the cool on your skin. To let that wash over you instead of the normal pulsing waves of heat. Maybe you could have a cocktail. A snack. A pleasant conversation with strangers. But you didn’t. You didn’t travel for fun. You traveled for work and your work rarely gave you more than a few hours to spend in a strange new city. And if you let yourself goof off in your pre-job space then you risked being late for your actual performance. You were never fucking late.

So you had spent the morning lounging on the balcony of your hotel room, taking in the soft breeze and the view of the ocean spread out before you. Boats were nothing more than distant little dots gliding along the surface of the water. The people on the beach were just other specks of sand. Everything had been distant and small and far away from you. Where it belonged. The sounds of the crowd below were drowned out by the greater sounds of wind, and traffic, and your hands over your ears.

Now you were in the thick of it, an anonymous face that would be written off as nothing more than another tourist. No one paid much attention to you. And that suited you well enough. You were happiest incognito. The trappings of stealth never left you, instead they just repurposed themselves to your life as a criminal. Funny how the only thing really separating what you did from what you do is a foolish sense of doing right and an official title. Well. There was a bit more care into making sure buildings were clear before you set them on fire. Now that was pretty damn counterproductive. Also waiting around for people to run away from fire was boring. 

It was almost too easy to get lost. Between the sea of bodies pushing and pulling you across the city and the multitude of little alleyways that called you into them like a siren song, you very quickly found yourself off the beaten path. Surprisingly alone in a quiet side street. Places like this were always the most dangerous. On busy streets you traded discomfort for the benefit of blending. It was easy to find a corner, a spot, where you could sit for a moment and rest. But the quiet spots, with no one but you? That was exposure. Anyone would see and know instantly that you didn’t belong. Phones would be pulled out, numbers would be called, and footsteps would break the silence behind you. The longer you stayed on a street like that the more the hair on the back of your neck rose. It was a struggle to walk peacefully. To keep up the illusion of a lost but enchanted tourist. Just another weirdo with a plastic camera and a novelty drink cup. Not that you had either of those things but you could.

The panic you were feeling was good. An early jumpstart on gathering the fire you needed to do your job.

The Calado building was huge. Pretty visually appealing, in your opinion. Not that you would ever tell Korpal. He could get pretty unpleasant if you ever implied that there was anything more beautiful than Vishkar’s work. Because it’s physically impossible to like more than one look. Everyone knew that attempting it would make you physically explode. Just, boom. Done, gone. One time you thought you liked both a leather jacket and a cardigan and you took out a city block. Also you took out the cardigan, and that was one of the biggest tragedies of your year.

It fucking sucked, you would have looked great. The intellectual look once again lost and you could never forgive yourself for it.

He wanted you to wait until he gave you the call. And then he wanted you to destroy the building in as fantastical a fashion as you pleased. The waiting? Sucked. The absolute mind-numbing destruction? Fuck yes. Oh, there were so many options. Did you want to burn out the bottom floor and watch it collapse down? Did you want to burn out only half of the bottom floor and watch the rest of it slide and tumble into the next building over? Oh, of course, you had to hit the next building over one way or another. He said as fantastical as you pleased. Which meant big fire. Very Big Fire. Oh the choices. It gave you goosebumps.

Night was the best time for fires. The way they lit up the sky made you feel like a small sun. The light rippling across you like reflections on the water. The steady orange glow blending up into the violet above. The shadows and the cold were chased away and robbed of their own rightful sanctuary. The night yielded to the flames.

All you needed was that quiet beep of your phone to set you off. 

It took a lot of strength to create a fireball big enough to be called an explosion. Like the pent-up anxiety you had walking through a crowd of people you didn’t know. Or the fear of wandering streets alone. Or fear so deep the only way you could handle it was a deep and bloody sense of violent rage. It built and built and built, intentionally stirred up by your own furious desires for any kind of peace. Any kind of resolution. Even if it meant crushing smoldering remains under your heel.

You drew all that pain through you and funneled it into a massive fireball that hurtled towards Calado’s building. The fire slammed through the upper floors of the building, bringing the roof down in burning hunks on the rest of the building and the buildings below. You raked the fire down the building, blowing it out through each floor one by one. Spilling your anger into each and every floor. It was already collapsing, the lower supports buckling under the heat and wait, glass shattering and falling to the ground below. You still followed the fire from floor to floor, flicking your wrist to target structural supports. The building came down with a final pathetic groan. The flames destroyed it played at being its ghost as they reached high into the air.

It was great. Felt great. Like a weight was off your shoulders and you were finally at peace. You knew Rio would pull through for you. So you couldn’t handle all of the people on its beaches and streets. You could still relax in the afterglow of a job well done. You could still enjoy the gentle glow of a bonfire as it consumed block after city block. The fire growing before you was a far better view for you to look down upon. This was going to look great from your hotel room but why just head straight there? You deserved a little bit of a victory lap. It was so much easier for you to stand in the heat now. Moira had made you so much better and now, she was making you better for you. Just because you wanted it. Just because she wanted to.

You strolled down the hill, holding your hand out to trail your fingers through the visible waves of heat coming off of the buildings. Even without your direct support, the fire in the residential buildings was strong. Nearly unstoppable in its size and the speed of its spread, the city was going to have a hell of a time trying to get it under any kind of control. 

The street was chaos when you finally hit a major road. Hundreds of people crying, screaming, swarming. Trying to save each other and anything from the cataclysm. It was so much noise, you regretted your decision to come down here. What was there to gain in looking into their eyes. In seeing the terror there. They were afraid of the fire and if they knew better they would be afraid of you too. Which, you know, good. You were something to be afraid of after all. A fire-breathing monster. And you liked it. You really did.

There was a flash of blue and you titled your head to watch a woman run into a blaze with walls of shimmering blue to block off your fire. For a second you tasted annoyance on your tongue, burnt caramel, and then it was gone when you saw what she was cradling in her arms. 

A kid.

An injured kid.

You turned and threw yourself back into the thickest parts of the fire. You didn’t care. You did not care. This was behind you. That business was behind you. And of course it could lure you in so sweetly. Rose-colored memories dipped in spun sugar and dangled in the glistening light, the scent of approval, the song of praise like a siren dragging you towards the rocks. Doing good was a great way to drown. Been there. Done that. Learned your lesson.

You snarled, lashing out at a building that hadn’t yet been caught in the blaze. There were firetrucks coming, so who cared. Who cared regardless. Who cared that the fire ate and ate and ate until wood collapsed and something became nothing. It was just ashes. Just another pile of ashes.

And to think you were so calm just a few minutes ago. It was all ruined with one poor choice to sightsee. What did you tell yourself about trying to play tourist, it never worked well for you. Or for anyone really. Oh well. So you lost your calm, calm didn’t suit you. It made you look boring at best. And you couldn’t have that. Imagine what it would do to your reputation if people decided that you were boring. All the unique abilities in the world couldn’t salvage a shit personality. It took years of acting classes and even then.

People seemed so eager to get out into the streets. The sound of emergency vehicles summoned people to their cars and right into the way. Your second closest ally in the world was humanity’s natural instinct to avoid pulling over for the giant, red, screaming vehicles. If you ever needed to walk away from a fire early you could rest assured that help was probably not on the way. It would be on the way later, when your work was done and you were enjoying your paycheck in the form of an unreasonable amount of take out.

This night would be over soon. And then you would be comfortably on your way to Oasis. It had been far too long since you’d visited Moira, you were overdue for some good company and some genetic upgrades. There were still a lot of tricks that you couldn’t quite pull off just yet. You were good but you could be better if you wanted to call yourself the embodiment of fire itself. And you absolutely wanted to call yourself that. You wanted to really own what made you… off. It ruined you in the beginning but you were better now, stronger. Forged in fire, if you were so bold. And you were. 

Plus, Moira promised you that she had an employment opportunity that you would enjoy. She was right on the money with Vishkar; Oasis too. No one knew you like she did. No one knew her like you did. Two unlikeable people with enough clarity to stay huddled together.

The sight of the fire from your balcony boosted your spirits a bit. It was every bit that distant shining warmth blooming from the center of the city. The electricity in the surrounding areas had been knocked out, creating a halo of darkness around the roaring flames. It was beautiful when you were up here, safely removed from all of the people involved. You didn’t have to look into anyone’s eyes, didn’t have to pretend like you were anything like before. Didn’t have to pretend that you were something you weren’t. Up here you could just be you.

It was good up here.


	3. Home is where you say it is

“Hey, Moira. It’s been three weeks. Can I know about this job yet?” You asked, flipping through your phone while you waited for her latest serum to finish dripping into your veins.

Moira smiled at you from across her lab, the folder of another project clutched in her hands. She didn’t have as much time for personal attention anymore, but at least she had a set up in her lab so she could keep an eye on you while she handled her other projects. She kept her attention on her work, returning her gaze to one of her screens with the file in one hand and the other rested on a keyboard. You shrugged. Work was work. You could wait to hear about this promised interesting venture. Now would be a nice time for a nap or two. Or you could find a tablet and do some research of your own. There was never a bad time to learn something new blah blah blah.

You weren’t going to do that.

“It won’t be easy getting in.” Moira called out. She had your attention. She usually did, there was rarely a time when Moira was talking that you weren’t listening with a keen ear. Moira just had interesting things to say. Like how she was going to improve your powers or the latest person she’d met who would love you to destroy something for them. You know. Just good conversation topics in general.

“I’m fine with difficult. What will I need to do to-” You made a face, “-Prove my Worth.”

Moira chuckled, “It’s not quite that. I think they’re quite aware of what you can do.”

“Call me interested. You’re my friend I think it’s high time you call me by my first name.” You snorted at your own joke, not even having to look over to see the slight shake of Moira’s head. At least you thought you were funny. She went quiet again, too focused on her work to humor you for the moment. Moira had the kindness to leave you with the best kind of puzzle though. Something for you to chew on while your body adjusted to the incoming changes. You would probably be down for a while but it was worth it in the long run. Also the short run. You didn’t lose your craving for improvement when you lost your sense of right and wrong. It just meant you didn’t have a reason for it and really, did you need one? No one needed a special reason to have a craving for pizza.

There was a short list of people who knew about your abilities. It was, coincidentally through no fault of your own, also the short list of people who did not like you. Moira was the only one not on both lists and that was sheer luck and happenstance. Also the fact that you let her play in your bloodstream like you were genetic disneyland. So which of the people that hated you also wanted to hire you? 

Couldn’t be Volskaya. They had feelings ever since they paid you to retaliate against the destruction of several of their factories only to find out you were the one that destroyed them. Because you were paid to, to be fair, but still. That woman could yell so very loud but there wasn’t anything she could do about it. You did do your job and burn down her competitor’s holdings, and she did hire a mercenary on government dollar to do a personal job. You got to dance away with cash and a smile but she probably wouldn’t be asking for you back. Probably.

There were a lot of small-time groups that you’d burned just because you crossed them when you were bored. Los Muertos was probably not super thrilled about that. But you could summon fire and they were probably sort of into it. They had a hot aesthetic, you could handle that if they paid you well enough. Hm, but you didn’t think they would.

Which sort of left.

If you weren’t practically tied to this bed with tubes you would have shot right up and ran across the room to grab Moira’s shoulders.

“Moira. Moira O’Deorain. You didn’t.” That would be… beyond fucking hilarious. It would never happen. Moira couldn’t even do that. No way.

“Didn’t what?” Oh she had that delight in her voice, the lift in tone. She knew you’d figured it out and she was delighted. Hell, you were also delighted. You burst out laughing, wheezing as you tried to keep still enough to avoid ripping out any of your tubes. 

“Talon?! You’re getting me involved in-” You tried to catch your breath, tears starting to prick at the corner of your eyes, “Are you trying to tell me that Talon is considering me?”

Moira was trying, unsuccessfully, to cover up a soft laugh as she headed over to you. She checked to make sure the serum was completely in your system before beginning to pull the needles out of you one at a time. Her face was covered in the amusement of someone who knew that she’d done something mischievous and dark and there was no one that could stop her. 

“There is resistance-”

You laughed. There was resistance but it wasn’t going to mean a damn thing. She had brought you here to get you ready to join Talon. You’d spent years tormenting them, destroying their warehouses, burning their weapons and ammunitions, setting their fucking casino on fire. And now here you were, ready for the highest bidder. It was like seeing a diamond on the ground and not picking it up because it said your hair looked silly. You had immense value as a weapon and you knew it. More importantly, Moira and whoever her contact was knew it. 

“I’m going to join Talon.” You wheezed, and then stopped. Moira pretended to be caught up in covering your punctures with cottonballs and bandages but you knew she was watching you. Waiting for your decision.

As there was one to make.

“I’m going to join Talon.” You repeated. With conviction. You waited until she had finished her bandaging to sit up. The dizziness hit you immediately. This was a strong fucking dosage but you would need it. Talon wasn’t going to go easy on you. There was bad blood, not that you particularly cared. Let them hate you. You weren’t going to be anyone’s friend and it would just be a grand disservice to everyone involved to pretend like you would try. 

“I thought you would enjoy it.” Moira hummed, winding up the tubes and dropping them into the biohazard bin. At least, you thought she was. The room was blurry and shapes were steadily losing definition. If you tried to stand up right now you would go down.

“You too?”

“Mmhmmm.” 

Yeah. She would, if they offered her something of scientific value. Moira was like yourself, for sale but only at the right price. While you would quite often settle for money she required more. Money and opportunity. The chance to push her research further. She would likely have plenty of test subjects if she was working for Talon, not that she wasn’t already rolling in them. You laughed a hoarse, humorless bark. Talon had a habit of collecting Blackwatch agents like they were trying to sell them on ebay. You and Moira were likely the equivalent of holographic cards or borealis dice. Rumor had it that they were grabbing up Blackwatch long before everything finally went down. Sometimes you wished you’d been there, standing at the foot of the wreckage, watching it burn down all on its own. Oh well. Joining Talon would be just as much of a fuck you.

“Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite person in the whole world, Dr. O’Deorain.” You slowly shifted yourself onto your feet, your knees starting to buckle beneath you. You gripped the edge of the bed and tried to let your body settle. Deep breaths. Careful breaths. You did not want to fall asleep in Moira’s lab. If she didn’t start poking at you, one of her assistants might. And you were not supposed to set her assistants on fire. Not the good ones anyway.

“Does the plaque count?”

“No, but the time I burnt it into your ex-university does.”

“They could never press charges but there was no doubt which ‘Moira’ the message was for.” She mused, stepping away from you as you very carefully attempted to make your way towards the door. Your vision was clearing, slightly, and you could at least tell the difference between a body and a car. Ugh the ride back to your apartment was going to suck. Most of the taxis in Oasis were aware that you didn’t throw up fireballs so you couldn’t even entertain yourself on the way home.

“When do we meet?” You clung to a table… or a desk. One of the two. It could debatably be either if you were feeling persnickety. 

“I’ll let them know you’re interested and see when they’re willing to swallow their pride. It’s only a matter of time before they see reason.” Moira replied. Her voice sounded distant and you weren’t sure if it was because you were almost to the door or if you were starting to lose consciousness. You just had to get into a car. The omnic greeted you as you stumbled into the taxi, handing you a bottle of ginger ale and promising to drive as smoothly as possible. You nodded… or shuddered. How many ways could you shake until it got concerning.

If someone had told you five years ago… that you would be excited about working for Talon… you would have set them on fire. You would have raged, destroying them and everything around them until there was nothing left but the glimmer of black glass, a mosaic of their end. It was funny how things changed.


	4. Down, Down, Down

You felt pretty good. After months of being practically bed-bound, it was a fucking relief being able to stand up and get your own drink from the goddamn shop around the corner. Being coherent was something you’d missed and you were never letting it go again. Until Moira developed another upgrade. And then you would part with such sweet sorrow. It would be prime romance material. You loved your ability to remain conscious exclusively.

Fire danced along your skin, directed with the slightest bit of effort. Moira’s work was as glorious as ever. There hadn’t been time to properly play before she shoved you onto this flight, but at least you could watch the fire run harmlessly over your unprotected skin. You were making the Talon guards on this flight increasingly nervous. Which was good. You weren’t joining at their level and they should be well aware that you viewed them as disposable. If you can’t dodge a fireball then you deserved to get hit by a fireball. You started yo-yo-ing a small spiral of flame towards the end of your flight, getting closer and closer to the man sitting across from you with a growing smile. He was so scared. It was so good.

You pulled it back as the jet landed, twisting your wrist and watching the flames disappear into your closed hand. You doubted you could calm down anything bigger than a match light but this was the sort of upgrade you’d been waiting for since day one. Ironic that you were now far less interested in stopping your fires than you once were. But at least it made it easier to just idly fidget with your powers at all times. Paying attention was now out of your reach and you would not miss it.

Talon had some visual upgrades since your last encounters with them. Aside from the obvious uniform changes, the interior design was a lot more attractive. They must have killed whoever was in charge of base design before. Or you must have killed whoever was in charge of base design before. It was pretty likely and you weren’t sorry. Their buildings used to be ugly. If it was you then they owed you a raise right out of the gates.

Security clung to you while you were guided through the halls towards the supposed meeting room that was waiting for you. At least Talon had the decency of making it clear that they didn’t trust you right out of the gate. They didn’t string you along for a few years and- and you know what, you’re not going to do that to yourself. You’re just going to take a deep breath, and enjoy this. There was bound to be plenty of work and the challenges! There better be challenges to this job. Maybe some intentional framing, some murder, a little theft if it was applicable, hell maybe they would find a way to surprise you. Oh, that would be fun. Work couldn’t be all fire slinging, there had to be some sort of fun games in between.

You were brought before a pair of thick metal doors, guarded by two very large omnic guards with massive weapons in their hands. They didn’t move or react to your presence as one of your escorts announced your arrival on his comm. The doors slowly began to open and you could hear conversation beyond it.

“Looks like said agent is finally here. I’m sure you’re all familiar with the fires that delayed much progress a few years ago?” Moira’s voice drew you through the doors, unimpeded by the guards. You noted that they didn’t bother following you in. Looks like Talon’s council could handle itself. You rounded a small hallway, smiling as you stepped into their meeting room, a ball of fire flickering to life in the palm of your hand.

“The previous agent Arson has been working with Vishkar for a few years, but now it’s time to take advantage of that skill.” Moira motioned between you and Korpal. He was certainly a surprise. Even more surprising was the friendly grin he offered before snapping back to professionalism. Any questions about how Moira had done this were gone. Both of you had enough experience chatting up Vishkar that it made sense they’d be willing to pull you into Talon with them. You’d been under the impression that Talon and Vishkar didn’t agree but hey, what did you know. You were just the spark in the charcoal.

Maximilien was sitting next to him, he wasn’t going to like you. He most certainly remembered what had happened to his casino all of those years ago. He was most certainly the one who had sent agents to keep track of your movements and still he failed to protect his holdings from you. What a shame. Ogundimu, Doomfist. The new Doomfist, if you remembered your intel correctly. He was the brains behind the transformation of Talon’s goals, though it was hampered a bit when Overwatch apprehended him. You’d heard he’d got out, and part of you was… not pleased. He had severely injured nearly everyone you’d considered a friend at the time… But they were all gone. Left you behind. Which was fine, that was over, you didn’t care. You’d gladly work with Ogundimu, no problem. The last figure in the room was looking at you with his gloved hands curled into fists. Reaper was a mercenary whose reputation outpaced your own, though he’d certainly been in action longer than you had. With time, effort, and the destruction of enough public property, you would outpace him in time. As of now he just seemed angry at your entrance into the room. Probably because he considered himself the edgiest person in the room.

“Please, call me Wrath.” He was not the edgiest person in the room. That was your title and you would not give it up to anyone.

Ogundimu was the first to approach you, getting out of his seat to circle the table and shake your hand. He smiled and leaned forward to observe the fire you were still holding in your hand like a wine glass.

“Fantastic.”

“Thank you, I was born like this but Moira, well,” The flame lept out of your hand, creeping up your arm in delicate dancing movements, a live creature crawling up your arm. It blossomed into a larger burst of fire before slipping over your shoulder and disappearing across your back, reappearing on your other shoulder and rolling down your arm. It bounced on the back of your hand before crossing from your hand to his. The fire spiraled up his arm without leaving a trace, not a burn mark, not even tender skin. It was probably hot enough to sting, maybe even hurt, but there was no damage. So there’d be nothing to complain about. You smiled and the fire shimmied across his shoulders, circling his neck and then leaping back into your waiting hand.

“Moira refined me.”

Ogundimu grinned and released your hand, returning slowly to his seat. “The doctor was right to bring you here. You have the sort of power we all should be chasing, and we will.”

Oh cool, he was about to go on the standard powerpoint about war and whatever else it was that sprinkled Talon’s ice cream. You took up a spot against the wall behind Moira and casually mimed fucking with a lighter. It was enough to attract Reaper’s attention. He was staring at you and you stared right back. He was probably plotting how to out-drama you. You couldn’t let that happen. You would have to start keeping small fireworks on your person, maybe flash paper, hell even some glitter. Finding it everywhere for weeks afterwards would be worth it if you ruined that guy’s day. Was it worth it to immediately antagonize one of the people who ran Talon? Yes. Yes it was. 

Ogundimu wouldn’t allow either of you to just walk if there was a problem. Reaper was the only one who would suffer if he let you get under his skin. You had no real issue with getting into mindless fights with coworkers. But maybe you were wrong. Maybe he was just staring at you because he liked your powers too. You were planning on getting into arguments with him, but he could just want to hang out with you. For shame. You would hang your head in regret when you were dead. Until then you would both just have to wait.

“Thank you for joining us, Wrath. Now if you could excuse us?” Moira asked, politely motioning back towards the door. You nodded and cast an unappreciated wink at the table. You hated sitting in on meetings that didn’t end with someone on the floor crying. They were just so boring when they were productive and put together. You preferred to just get your job and disappear. Lingering was pointless.

Ugh but you would have to wait for them to get done with their nonsense. You were free to wander the halls but that was just. Wandering. There was only so many rooms you could pass before the urge to set something on fire took over.

They had a training area. It had been a long time since you’d gotten to enjoy a proper training area. One with targets, with programs, with purpose. Sure it would probably bring up unpleasant memories of the past but your entire life was unpleasant memories. Eventually you would have to get the fuck over it. Or you could just keep burning things until the bad feelings went away. You’d take either option.

Talon’s room was a sprawling, state of the art arena with multiple sections to allow for a handful of mercenaries to practice their art without getting in one another’s way. The only person that you could tell was in here was a woman, perched high above her section of the space. She took out training targets with expert precision. You could only admire a good sniper for so long before you felt tired and cold. The best way to handle regret is searing flames. Maybe not the healthiest way but you didn’t want to do anything the healthiest way.

You busied yourself running simulations in crowded environments, practicing destroying a single target in a harrowing column of blue tinged flame. Instinct and desire threatened to spread the flame. This was dramatic and obvious; if someone with any kind of cleverness was paying too much attention they would know right away that it was done with some kind of pyrokinetic event. Even if they assumed it was technology or a bomb or something… that was still a little more than you would be happy with. But if Talon needed to send a message it’d work. A person bursting into flames in the middle of walmart was a pretty definitive message.

The last thing you’d call yourself would be an assassin though. You killed people, yes, but you were more a destructive weapon than a precision one regardless of the effort you put into controlling yourself. It was tactically pointless to send you in after one guy when you would be far more useful going after a city block. But maybe that was just the Blackwatch leaking through you. Like a stain you couldn’t quite wash out.

Maybe you could be an assassin if you tried. Applied a little effort, shook off what little remained of the past. After all, you’ve definitely murdered someone. You just need to make it a little more official. You turned towards the exit, pausing as you finally got a good look at the sniper, who was getting a good look at you.

“Agent.”

“Lacroix.” You smiled, “Fancy seeing you here.”


	5. No Reasons

Amelie apparently lived in a fancy chateau, which was hilarious, because she did murder people for a living. So did you, but you lived in a city where that was moderately acceptable as long as they weren’t very useful people. Amelie lived in fucking France. Unless you missed something and it was also pretty acceptable. It was France after all, shit was weird here.

The two of you were lounging on her balcony with a bottle of wine, her gazing off into the distance with no expression on her face while you fiddled with your new Talon approved phone. You certainly loved a job that had them listening in on your activity. Because you did so much. Your social life was fucking thriving, and this most certainly wasn’t the most exciting thing you’d done in months. And even if you hadn’t hung out with anyone lately, it was because you were unconscious in bed. Also, you didn’t need any new friends. You weren’t interested. This, was a work function. Amelie didn’t look any more interested in friendship than you did.

She did look fucking purple though.

There was no doubt that Moira was responsible for the purple situation but the real question was why. Was it… was it for stealth. Was this some sort of modern camouflage. Was she supposed to blend into the violet night or the reflections of glass buildings? Or was it just. Was it just a style choice? Did Amelie wake up and head into Moira’s office and ask to be purple for the sheer drama of it all? Even her hair was tinted purple that had to be dyed. Her hair was, at least, on purpose. Right. It was just. It would be like if you dyed your hair in fire colors. A little weird.

You wouldn’t have pegged her for a killer back in the day, but then again you never really spoke. Keeping yourself contained to that small group was a pain in the ass now that you could make use of any contacts. At least Moira managed to get names and numbers, or you would be stuck somewhere in the middle of the snow and cold. Not that you minded cold very much.

Did Amelie still dance? You wanted to ask her, check in on how she was doing. But you didn’t. You took a deep drink out of your glass and kept playing with your phone.

“Any tips for being in Talon?”

Amelie slowly looked at you, her stare the tiniest bit judgemental. You just shrugged it off. You knew that wasn’t a great conversation starter but you really only talked to Moira. You loved her but both of you sucked at starting conversations; you liked to think that you were marginally better at it. You had a little more grace, a little more consideration. Which was fun when you thought about how little of either of those things you had. Maybe you could train in… conversation. You didn’t doubt that there was someone in Talon who would love to teach you how to talk to people, even if it was just a chance at avoiding work.

“Do your job, that’s it.” Amelie looked away, gripping her glass a little tighter in her hand. You supposed she was right. If you never failed then it would never matter what you did otherwise. You could go buck wild. You could set whatever sort of shit on fire. You could charge hotel rooms to Talon bank accounts and never use them. You could steal staplers. You could have fucking two sodas for breakfast instead of one. Along with all of the other breakfast foods you definitely had. Like, eggs. And… toast.

Wild.

The conversation was lacking but the view was gorgeous. You were quite happy with your Oasis apartment but you could see the appeal living in the middle of a lake like this, surrounded only by a small village and nature. Trees were beautiful even if they weren’t on fire. You couldn’t imagine yourself living so close to so many, even with the lake serving as a buffer. It would be so easy to wipe out the village. With what Moira had done recently, you might even be able to preserve the surrounding forest. If you took a few months, practiced, refined, went back to Moira… it might even be easy.

Fire flickers from your fingers, small sparks, glimmering. Twisting tendrils that were brushed away from you by the lakeside breeze. The fire came so easily now. It yielded. The heat was warm and comforting, not painful and horrific. It seemed so silly that once upon a time you were so scared of yourself. It was ridiculous that you saw yourself as anything less than a wonderful marvel. 

Moira had changed that for you. 

Or maybe you changed that for yourself. Or maybe it was- No. No, it was you and Moira helping you. There could be no credit to anything, or anyone, that only set you back in the end. You watched the fire grow, a steady length of glowing streamers slipping between your fingers. It was fantastic. You were fantastic. You were fine.

“Could you not set my home on fire?” A hand gripped one of your wrists. You slowly pulled the fire back in, barely shifting your head to glance at Amelie. She was looking at your face not your hands. Not angry, not scared, not- anything. Just passive staring. The same face she’d had since you saw her in the training arena.

You smiled, “I don’t lose control anymore Amelie.” 

“Anymore?”

“Once upon a time I was a useless little thing who started campfires whenever I got so much as a little spook.” You grinned, “I got better.”

Amelie dropped your wrist. “Good. Fear just holds us back.”

Too true, too true. Amelie was finally talking and she was speaking your language. You poured yourself a second glass of wine before leaning back in your seat and getting comfortable. She had made decent life choices these past five years. Anything that could lead someone to their own little life of wine and quiet was a good idea. Even if it meant leaving a bit of blood and bile behind you. Didn’t have to be yours.

“Why are you here?” She asked. Her wine was left on the table and her hands were resting on either side of the table. She was looking towards you but not at you, perhaps letting her gaze rest on the village while you lounged in the peripheral. You took your eyes off of her and just sipped your wine for a moment. It was a simple question. But there was something about the atmosphere that made you want to take your time with all of this. To just slow down for once in your life. Most of the time you lived life like you were running a race, trying to get to the next checkpoint before the crowd caught up with you. You preferred it that way. Usually.

“In Talon? Same reason as you I suppose.” Although that was a bit of assuming on your part, but you got the feeling that Amelie didn’t much care about what you assumed.

“I’m here just because I am. The money is nice, the company is tolerable, and I don’t really have reasons not to. Why would I say no to this job? Morals?” You snorted, “That’s just. Impractical. Hinge your life on morals and you get burned. I’ve tried that route, you’ve tried that route. I’m not going to get into your business but I doubt anything good came of it.” 

You were right on the money. She stopped looking anywhere near you and resumed her observations of the lake. You didn’t judge her for it, no one liked being reminded of hard times. Conversations like that got real heated real fast. So it was enough, maybe more than enough, to just say that you knew she’d been through some things. She didn’t just decide that doing a pirouette was less fun than shooting someone in the face from five miles away. Or maybe she did, you didn’t fucking know and you didn’t care to know. It was firmly under the category of ‘none of your fucking business’ right next to what your neighbors two buildings down were doing with so many guinea pigs. You weren’t involved and did not care.

“Why are you here?” She repeated. You turned to give her your full attention and not one but two raised eyebrows. She got both of them; she was a classy lady and classy ladies deserved both eyebrows when they said strange things to you.

Amelie motioned to the castle around her, “Why are you here.”

“You… invited me?”

It was her turn to give you the look and you got neither eyebrow. Which was fair, you were many things but classy was not one of them. You had given up all traces of classy in order to maximize the mountain of edge on which you built your castle. A dark castle, with bats and spiders and shit. A few skeletons on pikes. Maybe even a dark wine cellar that had a secret hatch leading to a dungeon basement with even more skeletons and a breeze coming from no discernible source that made a soft howling noise. Plenty of darkened windows where you could stand either ominously or moodily, depending on what struck your fancy. 

“You said yes.” She turned her body to face you, intent on having this conversation. You laughed, downed the rest of your second glass, and laughed again.

“It didn’t even occur to me to say no Amelie. It wasn’t even an option.” You lifted up your legs and crossed your ankles over the banister, “I didn’t have a reason not to.”

“Is that why you do anything? Because you don’t have a reason not to?”

“Well I used to do everything so I could avoid prison.” You wanted to settle in for a nap but that wasn’t a smart thing to do in Amelie’s presence. She was, after all, the notorious Widowmaker. She was as much a well-known assassin as you were a well-known mercenary and you did not want to die if she got the inkling to try it. Now that you thought about it, that could be a pretty good reason to avoid coming to her home. Oh well. The view was good and the wine was great. There wasn’t much more you could ask for.

“You can come back.”

“Oh? Why.”

“You don’t have a reason not to.”


	6. The Flames Went Higher

Pyromancy.

That’s what was listed on your official Talon paperwork. Pyromancy. Combined the already hilarious situation of a giant terrorist organization having paperwork at all, and it made you look borderline ridiculous. Pyromancy. Like you were a fucking wizard. Like this was all just an elaborate game of dungeons and dragons that someone set in modern times for the pure funsies. There wasn’t much complaining you could do though, not when you could quite literally throw a firebolt. They weren’t wrong… you just never thought of it that way. You thought of yourself more as, having your own lighter on you, at all times, always. Maybe you just needed to be more creative.

You lounged in your apartment, watching the Talon technicians scoot around setting up a new computer and their own private wiring. Security precautions. You were one of the few whose base of operations was in the middle of a crowded, high profile city. Even if said high profile city couldn’t care less what Talon was doing and why. It was still too much visibility for the council’s comfort. And by council, you meant Reaper. Apparently you were volatile and unpredictable and would gain attention. So your systems needed extra security. The entire city already knew who you were and what you did for a living. It was as much of a secret as Dr. Herrera’s weird thing about crepes.

At least it was a good reason to clean your fucking apartment. Most of the time you just lit your trash on fire and ignored everything else. The roomba could and would devour the ashes, so why bother with everything else? Maybe this was why Moira hired people to come clean up her spaces. You hated the idea of strangers just seeing how messy you could be but you also hated cleaning. 

Now that you thought about it, a scorch marked apartment would be terribly on brand. You could get some black blackout curtains, singe the bottom of them, get some metal furniture. Oh it could be quite the aesthetic. You would have to invite Reaper over for a ‘no I’m perfectly trustworthy’ dinner. Light some candles, serve barbeque, lounge on the smoldering remains of what might be a car if you squint at the right angle. Find some good hardwood to shove into a cupboard so you could have an ankle-high layer of smoke and soot throughout the entire apartment. You might need to put up a pipe system though… It could be worth it.

The technicians needed to finish soon. You had a job to get to. It wasn’t a big one, nothing that would take more than an hour even if you were being lazy, but still. You had something to do and waiting around for Talon to safety proof your apartment was getting annoying. Next they were going to put safety caps on all of the light sockets and rubber padding on all of the corners of cupboard doors. Which you would not be happy about because you’ve never smacked your forehead into the corner of an open cupboard door. Not a single cupboard based bruise.

As soon as the technicians started finishing up your phone went off. Reaper stared back at you from the tiny video call. Definitely someone that you needed to talk to today. Or ever.

“Where’s your body armor.” Charming.

“Don’t need it.” You were also charming. You were the single most charming member of- Well. Maybe Ogundimu was much more charming than you were. By leagues. And Korpal could clean up pretty well. Maybe you and Korpal were about same… It would have to be Ogundimu, Maximillien, and then Korpal and you.

“Skipping out on work already?” Reaper’s disgust was obvious and annoying.

“Who told you. No, I just don’t need armor. I haven’t been shot at in three years.” Three years and three weeks. You like to think of that fourth week as a Learning Moment that you pretend didn’t happen.

“I said that you weren’t professional. Put it on or I shut you down.” And the phone went black. You rolled your eyes, hoping he could still see you through whatever cameras were being drilled into the walls. You slid past the technician packing up their tools and closed the door to your bedroom.

It had been a long time since you had work gear. You remember, before Moira fixed you, a suit that kept you from boiling yourself alive. But then she fixed you and you moved on. You didn’t have access to anyone that could have kept the suit functioning anyway. You missed- Nothing. You took a breath and focused on the uniform Talon sent. The undershirt was lightweight and surprisingly soft for tactical gear. You could see the cooling tech on the inside of the armored vest as you pulled it on. Unnecessary, but thoughtful. Being that you lived in the middle of the fucking desert you weren’t going to complain about some portable comfort. The cooling system was present in every piece. Even your boots. You hadn’t even been this armored when you were a literal soldier and yet your profile was still sleek and subtle. All charcoal grey aside from the dark red undershirt, the only spark of color. If someone stared at the vest too long they’d realize what it was but if someone stared at you too long… fwoosh.

A funny assumption of your powers though. Not a lot would have guessed that you ever had a heat sensitivity. Fire jumped to life around you, crawling over your new armor, testing the limits of the fireproofing. It was good, very good. No wonder it took them so long to actually pull you into the organization. This would have taken months to design and create. Intimate knowledge of how your powers worked and how your body reacted to them, and then information your actual training. Maybe they got it from Moira but damn this was fast. You wondered how they did the R&D on it without you. A flame thrower? Some enemies in need of torture?

The technicians showed themselves out while you were dressing, leaving you with your surveillance and comms system. A stray flame, small and frustrated, crawled over your tensed knuckles. Wound itself around your arm and scooted up, up, up. You shook your head and turned the computer on, tapping until you had a direct call to Reaper.

“Hey, put on your little suit. Are you happy?” You smiled, waving a semi burning hand at Reaper. He was silent for a good couple of minutes, just sort of staring at the screen. You assumed. He could be watching tv in his mask for all you knew. Using this awkward moment to catch up on the last season of the show he missed while he was out and about murdering people. You understood. You were five seconds from getting out your phone and catching up on all of the… internet quizzes that you’d missed. Maybe look over your five emails. 

“Took you long enough. Next time we give you equipment, you use it.” He growled, jabbing a finger at the screen. You gave an obviously fake smile and an exaggerated little bow. 

“As you wish.”

“Keep the attitude to yourself. Don’t forget who you work for.” He crossed his arms and took a step back. Creating distance even though you were who knows how far away. You let flames lick towards the screen anyway, playing with him. No reason not to, since you technically worked more for Moira than other members of Talon’s council. He had this Sombra person if he wanted a right hand for something. But it wasn’t up to him. As long as most of the council liked you, there wasn’t much he could do about it.

Worst case scenario, you got your weekend back.

“Get to work. And don’t call me again.” Aaand black screen. He was fond of that. Saying goodbye was for losers.

The helicopter waiting for you was nondescript, a boring shade of grey that was just appealing enough to avoid Oasis’ radar. The pilot took off as soon as you were buckled in. It was quiet, no banter or conversation, no false promises about leaving you behind if there was a sale on chicken nuggets somewhere. Oh well. It wasn’t like you were heading into anything fun. It was the regular burn and go. Raze a village to the ground on the edge of the russian border so completely there was nothing left. It would be blamed on the omnics and keep the war there running hot.

It was going to be such a boring cookie cutter event. The only thing to spice it up was getting transported in Talon’s shiny private jets but even that was just so damn boring. You were working for your old enemies and all they wanted you to do was light a building on fire. Where was the challenge?

The helicopter dropped you on a boat with a waiting jet. Unnecessary. Talon needed to know they could fly right in and Oasis wouldn’t care. Unless Oasis itself was in danger, there wasn’t a single citizen that would mind if you were flying off to set some no-name nothing building on fire. Best case scenario you would be setting a competitor on fire and that just made them happy. Oasis was neutral as neutral could be. You loved those glorious selfish bastards. Not too much, but enough.

Talon’s jets were operated by an Ai. An Ai that absolutely would not acknowledge that you were trying to hold a conversation. It was getting annoying at this point. At least when you were working for random folk on the street there was some sort of conversation. Talon was, thus far, all emails and angry calls from an asshole who didn’t even give you your orders. You technically got them from Moira. Technically

You raided the small fridge on the jet, which was pleasantly filled with a lot of things you hadn’t eaten in years. A small sandwich made with this spicy spread that you used to get all the time in the Overwatch cafeteria. You never asked what it was and thus found yourself unable to ever find it again. Either Talon had someone with weird powers at the head of their human resources or they had made a very good guess. Could be either. You were working there, and you knew you weren’t the only one with strange abilities. It was possible that they had someone who dedicated all their time to keeping track of what made employees happy. Weird for a group that was literally trying to start a war for shits and giggles.

The first bite was great. The return of one of your favorite foods, it was everything you remembered it to be. And then, it tasted like home. And then it began to sting. You wiped over the aftertaste of upset with anger. Burnt the thing to a crisp and crushed the smoldering remains under your heel. You kept yourself from burning everything in the snack fridge one at a time. You held onto the anger until it began to boil into viscous sticky rage. The air around you shimmered with heat by the time the jet touched down.

The armor was still cool around you, not even producing so much as a low hum as you stalked out of the jet. The snow melted around you, water bowing to the tower of rage that was heating the air in a column above you. 

The destruction of the village started with a sharp snap of an entire building bursting into flame. The fire shattering the windows and breaking its way inside. A roar loud enough to almost completely blot out the panicked screams as people fled the fire leaping from home to home, crushing buildings down to their foundations like soda cans. You waited until the buildings had all collapsed to take a shakey breath and emerge out of the pool of water you’d ended up in. You moved to heat the fabric to dry it and noticed how quickly the fabric let go of the water soaking it. That was good. You didn’t mind being cold but…

You ignored the jet waiting for you. You would find your own way back to Oasis. Right now you just needed to cool down, and a nice long walk in the snow would do just that.


	7. Lucky Shot

“Have you considered a hobby?” The omnic dealt out a hand of cards and waited for you.

You pinged a small ember against his head. Again. Like you’d been doing for the past half hour. You had a cigarette in your hand to disguise your flames, sitting in a chair at one of Maximillien’s gaming tables while you waited for Amelie to get done shooting whoever was getting shot. He didn’t appreciate it. Either your presence in his casino or your constant sparks.

“Isn’t cards a hobby?” You picked them up with your spare hand, sighing when you had to set the cigarette down in order to discard two of the useless ones.

“It could be, if you seemed any sort of interested. The only thing that seems to keep your attention is yourself.” He scoffed. 

“Thank you for making this about my ego and not my horrible unnatural mutation.” You were still not the best at poker. If Maximillien was making you bet you would have lost a pretty penny by now. Luckily the only thing he seemed to want was you, out of his proverbial hair. It was understandable. Aside from the three members of council who were invested in your powers for one reason or another you’d gained the Talon reputation of being an enormous pain in the ass. The council members you idly fucked with like a bored cat. The grunts you chased with fireballs. But that was for their own good, a lot of them were letting their skills go to waste instead of chasing the evolution Talon was ‘fighting for’. Also it was for your own good. The more you chased them the less interest Maximillien had on poisoning you. 

Not that you could be poisoned very easily. You knew that and Moira knew that but you doubt she’d told anyone else. Not enough testing.

“Have you thought about word burning?”

“Like… signs. You run a casino and you’re telling me to make those cheesy ass signs?” You held your cards to your chest in mock indignation. Maybe you’d give it a go, if only to fill his office with dozens of the things. Old habits and all. You couldn’t help but be mischievous. The other option was murderous and you weren’t supposed to murder one of the council members. You wouldn’t be forgiven if you melted Talon’s primary account manager into a puddle of shimmering hot liquid steel. It was awfully tempting though.

“If you don’t enjoy the games I doubt you’d enjoy my other hobbies.” He shrugged, collecting the cards and setting you up for another game.

“If you say shit like that you’re gonna spark horrible thoughts. If I want to forget I’ll have to take up alcoholism as a hobby.”

“Could you?”

“No not really. You don’t pay me enough.” You missed getting drunk. Thanks to Moira you just burned through the stuff. The best you could get was a slight buzz and that took more time than you were willing to put into it. Moira would probably make you something extremely potent, if only to see what would happen if you got really wasted. Moira would do anything if she got to see something interesting happen next. It was one of her finer qualities.

You flicked another small speck of flame against Maximilien’s head. You imagine you weren’t too far off from getting kicked out of his casino if it wasn’t for Amelie’s timely arrival.

“Let’s go.”

“Right. You’ll have to light my fire another time, Maxxie.” You waved, pretending you didn’t notice the soft grumble of disgust as you walked away. You would have to find a better nickname for him but thus far the simple indignity of ‘Maxxie’ was enough to make him displeased. You’d barely run a handful of assignments for Talon and already you had thoroughly burnt several bridges.

Although you were still allowed in the casino. So maybe that bridge wasn’t as burned as you assumed it was. Maybe you could be friends if you tried hard and believed in friendship. You didn’t, it was unfortunate. Very sad.

Amelie had her own private fleet of Talon vehicles. All of them upper class and luxurious, fitting the image of a woman who lived alone in a castle. You could respect that; it almost made you want to put in the effort to getting rides that fit your aesthetic. Unfortunately for you, your aesthetic involved ‘stealth’ and ‘edge’ and Talon was already both of those things. The only way you could personalize it further was setting each jet on fire and you doubted that would be appreciated. 

The jet waiting for you was sleek and small, enough room for you and Amelie to sit around a small table while an omnic walked over and showed the two of you a wine list.

“Anything will work for me,” You shrugged, “Can’t feel it anyway.”

“And for you, Widowmaker?”

“The best.” Amelie barely cast a single glance at the list or anything else. Her eyes were quickly pointed out the window, watching Monaco start to slip away. It was a nice city. The buildings that came up after you’d burnt down their predecessors were beautiful and impressive. It had been enough to prompt renovations around the city. There wasn’t a place that didn’t have construction warnings somewhere on the property. The view was only going to get better.

“I still can’t believe they assigned you the name Widowmaker.” You muttered, “What a shitty name. I mean, I get it. I’ve had bad code names too. But damn. Even just Widow would have been better. Arachne. Silk. Recluse. Sting.”

“Arson.”

You winced, “That was bad. Real bad. Anything’s better. Scorch. Singe. Pyre. There’s a bounty of opportunities besides… Well, I took the one that seemed the best. A shame we likely couldn’t find you a new code name. This one has unfortunately set in. Oh well. Could be worse.”

Being saddled with Widowmaker was almost as bad as being stuck with Arson. It was way more accurate now, you’d committed far more arson as Wrath than you did back in the day. It was, in fact, nearly all that you did. Maybe Maximillien was right about you needing hobbies. Definitely wasn’t right about wood burning but he was going in a good direction. Perhaps wood carving. Needlepoint. Scrapbooking. Maybe Amelie would help you improve your shooting. You could go hunting together. Neither of you had any problem with the cold so the only real problem was your ability to never stay still ever. You’d give it 15 minutes before you attempted to set fires in order to chase out animals.

A kill’s a kill. Why would either of you care about cheating.

“So, where are we going?”

“A party followed by an auction. I’m your bodyguard.” 

“Why can’t I be the bodyguard?”

Widow looked at you and leaned forward. “Wrath.”

“Yes?”

“I’m Blue.”

“True.” You shrugged. You hated the idea of being the ‘guest’ at any fancy event. They were never great in the old days and they weren’t going to be any better now that you were a capital C Criminal. What were you going to talk about now, the fashion choices in the mercenary world? Whether or not it could still be considered fashionable to keep knives in multiple sheaths running down your leg? Was blue camo the new grey camo?

“What do I have to do at this party? Burn it down, singe a guest, eat every single mini quiche?” The last one was going to happen regardless of official input. Quiche were good.

“Talon wasn’t given an invitation, we’re mostly there to remind them of who they’re dealing with. And if you see any of these men, yes, burn them.” Amelie handed you a small tablet to flip through. Each had a little blurb about why they were on Talon’s shit list. Theft mostly, Talon wasn’t a group to steal from, and a few just labeled ‘Viali connection’. Interesting. You had assumed that Viali had died through the course of business. If he was actively taken out by Talon itself, there might be some, unstable elements. Understandable. You would just have to take in as much pay as you could before it devoured itself.

You actually sort of wish you had your armor on you. This clothing was, supposedly, still bulletproof but there was something deeply comforting about your regular gear. The more you looked at it, the better it seemed to suit you. Being dressed up was fun but you missed your sweet leather jacket and literal body armor.

Amelie could probably handle it though. From what you’d seen she was fairly well trained as an agent. You wouldn’t say that you trusted her, that sort of thing wouldn’t be handed out so easily. But logically, she was capable. She had skill. Amelie never would have made it into Talon if she wasn’t a good assassin. You weren’t sure how she learned but it must have been pretty good. Maybe it was another ex-Blackwatch agent. Someone who slipped under your radar but revealed themselves to Talon. Hell, they might have even been a Talon plant. There were a lot of those, apparently.

“Don’t worry about making conversation. We aren’t here for friends.” Amelie helped you up, guiding you out of the plane and into an almost obnoxiously fancy car, “If anything, they should know to fear us.”

“If they won’t it’s easy enough to fix.” You idly toyed with a small ball of fire, “But I’m guessing I shouldn’t show my hand unless it’s necessary, right?”

“You know what you’re doing.”

Amelie seemed pretty confident. The two of you were unlikely to come into much trouble, between her skills and your own. It would be unwise to attack Talon’s elites when they were so close together. Even if no one knew who you were just yet. Wrath wasn’t quite the household name as Widowmaker. Maybe today would be the day, if someone fucked up. Or you got bored. It really depended on how good this auction was.

As the two of you walked in there wasn’t much to separate it from any run of the mill rich people event. A lot of silk and ties, jewelry on glimmering necks, and hands full of fine wine. Blank faces with meaningless smiles. Except for the drunk ones. It was 3 pm in the beautiful sunny afternoon and there were already drunk ones scattered across the room. What wondrous things. Such precious treasures. They were literally in a room full of the worst humanity had to offer. Not a single person here wasn’t some type of embezzler or weapons dealer or assassin. And there they were, drunk off their damn asses. Fantastic. You were half tempted to off them and you weren’t even bored yet. If it wasn’t for Amelie immediately flagging down a plate full of snacks then you would’ve started playing skee ball. 

There was no one you could see worth talking to. None of the shit list members were there, or they were smart enough to hide from you and Amelie. It would be hard to not realize that she was there. Actually… it was really hard to avoid looking at her.

“Amelie… part from me for a moment. Let’s see what we can learn when they’re distracted.” You slipped over to another server, taking a wine glass from their tray and leaving into the auction room. This looked much less… decorated. The chairs were comfortable but plain, the walls were bare except for large touch screens displaying the lots. Not the most secure choice. None of the people lingering about or standing card even looked your way when you idly flipped through the choices.

Weapons, weapons, more weapons. Materials… to make weapons. Drugs. Displayed rather nicely, good photography. Stolen art, which frankly seemed out of place. But hey, if you were going to buy a bunch of guns and some heroin you might as well pick up some paintings to liven up the place. Maybe a nice rug. Some throw pillows. Would Talon get mad if you charged something to their account? They were the ones who sent you here as a ‘warning’. Someone should have clarified if you were allowed to go buck wild on their account or not. You were about to go inquire about a bidding paddle to the footsteps behind you when you felt something on the back of your neck. Familiar. Heavy. Cold.

“Shouldn’t have wandered off.” The voice was unfamiliar and uninteresting. Someone that was going to be on fire in a few seconds should at least have the decency of being noteworthy. Damn.

“Hey did you bring any of those spinach puffs when you came to be a badass or nah.” You probably wouldn’t get them but you could at least try. The gun pressed harder against your neck, almost shoving you towards the screen you were still flipping through. The answer was no. He didn’t have any spinach puffs. That was fine, you liked the spring rolls better. Not that he had any of those.

“Shut u-” He was cut off by a round of rapid shots, followed by one very loud one, and the soft buzz of what was probably a clipped screen. You turned to see the bodies crumpled on the floor and Amelie lowering her rifle from across the room.

“I can’t believe they really thought you weren’t paying attention.” You swept a speck of blood off your arm before crouching to examine them. The ones marked with Viali’s name. A shame, you were really hoping to burn someone alive. Oh well. You wouldn’t deny Amelie the joys of shooting someone in the middle of a party. It was certainly better than talking about how good the wine was. It was decent.

Amelie didn’t respond as she approached. She just stared at the space beyond the group of bodies. There didn’t seem to be anything worth staring at but maybe she was just focused on one of the items that flashed by as she shot. You stood up and waved down one of the now staring bodyguards.

“Excuse me? Can I get a bidding paddle and some paper towels? The towels are a joke, I just want the paddle.”


	8. Antagonist

Lijiang was beautiful. You couldn’t wait to touch down and see the city up close. There wasn’t really time for sightseeing, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t do it anyway. You would only be inconveniencing Reaper and that was a bonus.

He was ignoring you for now, sticking to the back of the jet with his arms crossed and his head pointedly turned to face away from you. Reaper’s body was stiff. Tense in a way that you knew was unrelated to the stress of an upcoming assignment. He wasn’t happy that you were there. Definitely wasn’t happy that half the council all but demanded your presence. With Vishkar getting hit with severe problems in Rio, they needed press elsewhere. Plus Lijiang had valuable things that Talon wanted. It would be a win win if you weren’t lounging on the other side of the jet, sharing a bag of dried cherries with Amelie and smiling at Reaper the whole time.

Once in a while you quickly shifted your glance to and from the woman sitting on Reaper’s side of the plane. You’d never met her before. Amelie called her Sombra and hadn’t stopped staring at her since the jet had taken off. She was relaxed, so Sombra wasn’t a problem in particular. Or if she was a problem, Amelie could just kill her if she got too annoying. You took a longer moment to examine the hacker. She was focused. Whatever she was doing, it was more important than anything else happening around her. You doubted she was aware of you or Amelie, or even Reaper. She must figure herself completely safe. She probably was. You had no desire to even get her attention, let alone set her on fire. Amelie was at peace and Reaper was focused on you while pretending not to be focused on you.

You almost envied her, but one of you gets to light a bunch of fireworks tonight and the other has to… do whatever her job is. You didn’t read the full report. You read as far as checking where you and Amelie were and immediately got excited. Setting fires was fun, you wouldn’t lie. But being paid enough money to buy a house to sit around and light a shit ton of fireworks. Oh yes.

Reaper stood up as the jet began to approach the landing strip, impatiently tapping his foot at the door. He almost seemed to scrunch up, arms folded tight, body hunched forward, head dipped. Probably trying to contain his anger. You could understand that. You’d had your periods of trying to hold the rage in before it set everything around you on fire. Now you learned to just let it rise to a slow but steady boil. You knew you would get it out one way or another. There’d be no benefit towards telling him that. He wouldn’t listen to you and you didn’t like him enough to convince him.

You snapped a small lighter sized flame into existence, watching it flicker in the artificial breeze as the craft came into a landing. You were going to have some fun tonight. This would be the job that truly made joining Talon worth it.

“Put that away.” Reaper snarled. Apparently someone was watching your reflection in the metal doors. You waved the fire in greeting and couldn’t hold back a mocking smile when his head snapped to face you. You let the fire drip down your arm, catching it on your tongue with a wink. You were just driving him up the wall and you knew it. Could probably just, mind your own business. Concentrate on the mission. And you most certainly would when the doors were open. 

“I don’t see why I should. I’ve got it under complete control.” You hummed.

“That’s the problem.”

“Oh? And why is that. Do you not trust me, sssiirrr.” You drew out your speech, slowly rising to your feet and stretching, “I can’t imagine why. You pay me don’t you?.”

“Just do your damn job.”

“Yes yes yes. Because my job is soo difficult.” You stood close to his side, heat rolling off of you so heavily you could see the ripples in the air. Couldn’t be comfortable walking around in heavy leather like he was. But he didn’t move, if anything he released some of the tension in his body. You could hear him taking slow, deep breaths. Keeping himself from doing anything that could give him an even bigger headache later. You were oh so proud of him.

You the heat slip away. It would be a bit too much of a red flag to walk around hot to the touch. As much as you craved the chance to ramp Reaper right up again, you were still a goddamn professional. No one would notice a thing and the ones that did would ‘suffer’ a ‘fireworks related accident’. 

Reaper turned to face you completely as the landing sequence finished and the doors slid open, “Don’t make a mistake.”

“I wasn’t planning on it hot cakes,” You brushed past him, ignoring the heavy footsteps that followed after you.

“Keep your comm on.” More angry snarling. He needed a cough drop, or some honey tea. Maybe that would be a fun little gift to grab him from a shop. Someone here had to be selling some tea and honey. Actually you could just get it for Amelie, she actually deserved a nice treat. And her castle seemed fairly drafty. You know that she wasn’t bothered by the cold anymore than you were but still. She deserved some tea.

It was easier to blend into the crowd knowing that Amelie was watching you. Soothing perhaps. You had all the benefits of a safety buddy and none of the crowding or loss of privacy. She was watching but not so close as to be able to know what item you were looking at. Most of these people weren’t threats. They were just average people having a fun night out. The only things of interest they had were little glimpses into the shapes of their lives. A small blue fabric bag with a large cluster of soft plastic charms dangling from one of the loops. Little popsicles and panda bears and bows. A pin in the shape of a cartoon character you couldn’t place, secured onto the hem of their jacket. Bright enough to be considered a display but low enough that it could go unnoticed. A hat, blue and pink, with little bunny ears. A D.va fan, you supposed. Small things. Small things everywhere.

Amelie always had wine when you visited her. The tea you picked was deep and rich, a hearty dessert tea. Something that would give comfort even when someone didn’t need it. It might be a bit sweet for her tastes, but you hoped she’d enjoy it anyway. You grabbed a figurine for Moira. She was, quite actually, the easiest person in the world to shop for. Always had been, always would be. Even if you didn’t have the option of defaulting to ‘Happy whatever, go ahead and stab me’ it was easy. Just a figurine of some cartoon or video game. Did you know what it was? No, didn’t matter. Moira would handle it from that point. Her collection was impressive and you did not understand how she found the time to watch as much as she did. You didn’t even have time and your job was setting something on fire for one night every couple of days.

“Are you in position yet or are you just messing around.” Reaper, here to ruin your shopping with his management. You quietly waited to receive your jianbing before answering. Food was more important than coworkers, now and always.

“Sorry, did you say something?” You mumbled with your mouth half full. You weren’t far from your goal, a warehouse just outside of the market. No one paid attention to you as you stepped through a narrow alleyway that lead to the warehouse’s doors. The place wasn’t well guarded; there was one man circling it but he seemed tired and uninterested in one lost tourist.

“We need that distraction Now.” Oh boy he was so angry. You were so concerned. 

This wouldn’t take much effort. A single lick of flame just inside the wall. Spread it out until the first pop, crackle, snap. Grow it just a little and the fireworks woke up on their own just fine. A thinly contained rumble that quickly burst out of its housing and went up into the sky in a roar of color and light. A wild spread of fire and awe that you ‘ran’ away from in a startled heap of limbs. You could feel the heat behind you, see the color reflecting off of the windows as you returned to the crowd you would lose yourself in. The faces of the people before you dazzled even as the shouts rang out of fire.

You stopped in the middle of the crowd and turned back. A few stray fireworks still shot up into the sky, sparks that tumbled helplessly through the air and burned themselves out. This fire would be contained quickly. The crowd moved slowly away from the billowing smoke as though they were all waiting for the tide to pull them back into their good times. No one was pushing or shoving. Just moving. Loud and talking but strangely quiet.

For just a moment you felt at peace. A rush of quiet with the slightest undercurrent of satisfaction. It was a job well done after all. One of your better attempts at distraction, and you were pretty distracting. Plus it wasn’t often that your fires attracted people closer rather than sent them running. This would be information to save for later. Just in case.

“How’s that for a distraction, babe?” You cooed smugly into your comm. There was a moment of silence followed by a crushing distortion. You laughed as the sound cut off completely. Someone didn’t appreciate the nickname. You’d have to call him sweet things more often. Honey. Sugarpie. Sweetie buns. Drive him up the goddamn wall and back even more than you already were. Reaper really should be more careful of the way he lets you under his skin. If you can do it so easily you can’t imagine how easy it would be for someone with a talent for it. Moira could probably read the man like a book, mask be damned.

You ate your way back to the rendezvous point, deliberately taking your time. You still arrived before Reaper did. His body seemed to ooze tension in sporadic shaky bursts. He paused as he stepped onto the jet, pointing his shotgun at the door.

“Get out.”

You tilted your head, “And risk Talon losing an asset?”

“Get. Out. Now.”

You let the heat seep into the jet, steady, pulsing, just warm enough to be uncomfortable to another person. Like standing in front of an open oven or holding your face above a boiling pot of water. But you stood up, slipping past Amelie as she looked between the two of you.

“And if something happens to me? That would be on you, wouldn’t it Boss?” You let the phrase sink before you left. The last thing you wanted to do was make Reaper’s ride home unpleasant. There were definitely a ton of freelance opportunities in China that you could take up for a few weeks. Extra cash couldn’t hurt.


	9. What do you want?

If Reaper could’ve slammed the door on you, he would’ve. But it was fine. You watched the jet fly off through the reflection in the windows of the closest buildings, your lips threatening to switch from a smirk into a sneer. Someone was awfully unprofessional, but what were you expecting? Talon lacked structure. It made up for it in skill, sheer numbers, plenty of resources, but still. A lack was a lack and you would delight in poking at it as much as you can.

At least Talon wanted you there. Their one saving grace, for all of their lack of organizational skills. You could always do them the favor of buying one of those desk totes or something. Maybe a wall calendar. One of those magnetic dry erase ones so they could really just go at it. A different pen color for everyone on the council to put a bow on the whole thing.

There were plenty of options if structure was what you wanted. Mercenary armies if you wanted to stay in the dark. Private security if you wanted to go legit. Helix would pay for a literal firewall if that’s what you wanted. You knew it. Talon knew it. There was no doubt in your mind that there would be a tasty little bonus waiting in your bank account when you got home. An apology from the council for the behavior of one of their own. Perhaps even a friendly little email from your favorite friend over at Vishkar. Using the term friend lightly of course. Very lightly. 

You wandered. Let yourself forget everything for the briefest hour. The world could be nothing more than colorful lights and alluring smells if you just let yourself breathe. If you could always live like this you would. A life with a quiet apartment. A houseplant. A pet. Nothing bigger than a goldfish but a pet nonetheless. You could walk to the corner store for groceries and still eat primarily from the little hole in the wall restaurant across the street. Make friends with your neighbors. Talk to them. You could work a little job at that restaurant across the street. Maybe waiting tables, maybe cleaning dishes, maybe even watching over the grill. Chuckling to yourself every time a customer orders anything with ‘flame grilled’ attached to it. You would demand there be a hot sauce labeled fire and anytime someone used it you would grin over at the owner, who at that point refused to look you in the eyes in any sauce related conversation. You would linger after work chatting with regulars before walking home to that apartment across the street. Go home to your houseplants and your fish. Eat dinner that you got in a take out box while you were leaving your work at the little hole in the wall restaurant across the street. Where the world was no more intense than colorful lights and alluring smells. You couldn’t live that life if you wanted to. It was never an option.

The city got real bitter real fast. You were fine. You were more than fine. You were strong, you were skilled, you were in a comfortable position. Your life was good. Maybe not perfect and certainly not the ideal but it was good. There was no reason to torture yourself with half baked daydreams about things you couldn’t have. Things you couldn’t have ever had. There was no timeline that saw you living quietly. It wasn’t in the cards.

“It’s cold. A good thing you’re on hand.” Sombra broke you from your self pity, draping her arm over your shoulder. How long had she been following you?

“Did Reaper kick you out too, or were the heaters on the jet just not good enough?” She was probably your babysitter. Reaper didn’t seem to like your tendency to wander after jobs. Which you didn’t get. It wasn’t always meant to piss him off, though sometimes it was you couldn’t lie. You just liked to let yourself relax after a job well done. Take a nice quiet walk and drown yourself in your own thoughts until you woke up in the middle of a burned down hotel.

“I had some stuff to do.” Sombra shrugged, “He kicked you out, hm? He doesn’t like you very much.”

“Really? I thought we were meant to be. Clearly a soulmates situation.” You grinned, “It’s sorta funny. I tend to bring that out in people, it’s my special talent.”

“You mean besides the fire?” She smiled back, removing her arm from you but keeping close under the guise of being cold. Maybe she really was. You had a hard time gauging temperatures. Especially now, after all of your improvements. You could feel cool water, feel a warm mug in your hands, but in general, the weather was just… comfortable. Not good, not bad. Just a thing.

“True. I have multiple talents. I’m amazing.” You pause and raise a dreamy hand to your chest. 

“That’s why they still keep you around.” Sombra smiled and ducked into a small restaurant, beckoning you after her. So you did. No reason to start walking away from a perfectly decent conversation. And you wouldn’t even pass out during this one, unless it seemed like a good exit strategy. Never throw out a perfectly good card, kids.

Part of you wished you snagged Amelie on your way out. Just tossed an arm over her and dragged her to the restaurant with you. Laughed about stealing Talon’s employees away. Maybe forming your own shitty mercenary group. Most of the council would know that you were full of shit, you had zero interest in building anything besides a nachos order. Probably not even that; there were plenty of perfectly good nacho situations on any menu. Why attempt to perfect something that’s already edible. If it didn’t kill you there wasn’t a reason to mess with it. Maybe a reason to set it on fire at most.

You would have appreciated the familiar face amidst the initial silence. Silence didn’t generally unnerve you but this wasn’t particularly quiet. This was a weighted nothing. A silence that was more a surface level lie barely obscuring the hanging net of things waiting to be said. Certain kinds of games have a certain kind of pacing; but that didn’t mean you had to enjoy it. Tolerating it was more than you owed a stranger. 

“You’re bored.” 

“I wouldn’t say that. I seem to attract acquaintances that don’t talk much, though I didn’t think you were the type.” 

Sombra shook her head. “Bored with Talon.”

“And you have better plans?” You tilted your head. 

“Maybe.”

It could be interesting, playing on the side right under the council’s nose. Getting yourself into business that you shouldn’t just because you knew in your heart it would drive them up the wall. And what were the consequences? You had nothing to lose. A home? Oasis was hardly a home. It was a place to sleep just like every other place to sleep. Any tree filled park was as much a home as that apartment. You couldn’t lose your job, you were a criminal. People always needed a monster like you. Friends and loved ones? That was the funniest part. Moira’s friendship was unconditional as long as you did something interesting. The results of this experiment would cover the price of admission.

“Maybe I would be interested. But what’s my motivation?” You watched Sombra’s eyebrows raise ever so slightly and turned your attention to your plate.

“You didn’t take your time to schmooze with me, lower my defenses and all that. You just came right to be and the first things out of your mouth are ‘let’s play’. Which means,” You waved your chopsticks in her direction, “That you have something I want. Which is weird, because I have no idea what I even could want.”

Maybe that was the best part. You didn’t want anything aside from money and a way to pass time. But money was mundane. Anyone could pay you to do anything. This didn’t smell like an average ‘go burn this for 20 dollars’. This smelled like some clandestine bullshit. So if Sombra wanted you for something more complex than a one in done… It would be like unwrapping a present if you had to murder someone to get at the paper.

“Well. I’m guessing you don’t have any fond feelings left for Overwatch…”

You snorted. Talk about an understatement. You accepted it was in your past, even though there was no paper trail that could ever link you back. It was only your word, and Moira’s word, and the bitter taste in the back of your throat. You accepted it but you didn’t like it. It hurt you. Waited until you had finally pulled yourself up from a cliff and then shoved you straight back into the water. Left you there to drown while it walked away only to self destruct. You tried to keep the bitterness from turning the corners of your lips.

You tried.

“But I bet it would sure be nice to see the person responsible pay for it, hm?”

You stopped eating and took in the satisfied glimmer in her eyes. There were a lot of people you blamed. Mostly the top brass, the commanders. The ones who looked through all of the suspects and decided that you were on the list. But the three of them were dead, destroyed by their failure to find the real traitor. You blamed them more than you blamed the actual fucker. But if you had the opportunity…

“What do you want?”

Sombra leaned back, victorious. Which was annoying, but she did have the one thing that could bribe you better than any dollar amount. Overwatch deserved what happened to it in the end. Revenge for what happened to you though? That was delicious. That you wanted. It didn’t matter what Sombra wanted. She knew it too, and that was damn frustrating. You hated when other people pulled your own bullshit on you. 

You left her with the bill. The conversation left you restless and itching to move and do something, anything. You’d spent so long wandering without purpose or intention that the high of finally having a goal was… It was so much. Maybe it was the last thing you needed to really be free. To rid yourself of those last lingering threads that kept you tied to what you wanted so badly to leave behind. You wouldn’t be Wrath, the ex-Blackwatch merc anymore. Not that anyone called you that. But you felt it in everything that you did. Their legacy resting in your bones. Killing the mole, burning that stain away from yourself, gaining that justice… Yeah. Yeah that was going to feel really, really good.


	10. Can't Make an Omelette without Breaking the Skin

Being paid on retainer had its benefits. For example, the weekly bonus you were starting to receive from Maximillion bribing you to stop showing up to the casino. Each deposit noted with things like ‘The Bahamas are nice.’ or ‘You would enjoy shopping in New York.’ Subtle hints to go anywhere that wasn’t Monaco. Which was fair. Time wasted singing your bosses could be used in chasing your only real interest. Strength.

Perhaps that’s why you were so favored by Doomfist despite your complete lack of obedience. You weren’t satisfied with yourself and never would be. There was more that could be squeezed out of you, you just knew it. Fire could push things back with enough force; you figured that meant they could also push your body around. At first it was the standard embarrassing fare made even worse by both Amelie’s and Sombra’s insistence on training with you. Not, with you with you, but they were certainly in the room, watching you catapult yourself into a wall. 

Which was not a failure. It was proof positive of your theory. Which was a good thing and what you wanted. So you did most certainly want to throw yourself into a wall with a painful thud, thank you very much.

“I should have called Moira,” You muttered, prying yourself off the wall for the second time. “She would have liked to record the data.”

“Don’t worry, I’m recording.” Sombra called out, giving you a little wave from behind her holographic screen. You added a very helpful finger to her video and marched back to your self imposed starting line. How fast can you do this. How far can you do this. How much more dangerous can you make yourself with this. You flung yourself forward again. And again. And again. Sometimes hitting the wall and other times tripping, unfamiliar with how fast your body was traveling. Your body ached. Your skin broke in a few areas, scattering specks of blood on the wall and floor and your clothes.

You stopped yourself from launching forward again and dropped into a crouch. You would need armor for this. The uniform you’d been assigned was back in your apartment, waiting for you to get paid to put it on. Back in fucking Oasis. You didn’t anticipate needing it, but you also didn’t anticipate repeatedly flinging yourself into the wall. Or onto the floor. Or once into Sombra but that was on purpose. Oh well, looks like Moira would have the opportunity to study this after all. Her facilities in Oasis weren’t as suited to your needs as Talon’s though. 

“Ugh. Anyone got a first aid kit?” You winced through a stretch, prodding at your sore and sensitive injuries. This was going to hurt a lot over the next few days.

“There’s a reason you were assigned armor.”

You fought the urge to spin on your heel. Reaper was not going to get that satisfaction. You didn’t hear him come in though, or notice him at all. How long had he been watching you train? You turned slowly and put on a lazy smile. His arms were crossed as usual but his shoulders weren’t as tense as they usually were. Maybe he thought some bumps and bruises were enough to keep you from being a problem. He would be very incorrect; you could be dying and you would still be a problem.

“I had assumed bullets were that reason, but good to know it’ll protect me from big scary walls.” It would. It probably would. Your arms hurt a lot.

Reaper tore a box off the wall, thrusting it aggressively in your direction and just waited for you to come get it. You rolled your eyes. Next time you would ask for a head’s up when he was going to show up. It was your own fault, you could have just asked to do this at Amelie’s place. It was made of stone, it would be fine. Probably. You took the took the box, grinning at the empty black eye holes of his mask until he made a sharp noise of disgust. 

“What, you aren’t going to patch up my imaginary booboos for me?” You pouted, or attempted to, the expression on your face bordering on unnatural. 

“We aren’t paying you to be careless.” Angry. Short. The words spat against the hard shell of his mask.

“You’re not paying me to be careful either.”

“Learn some respect.” 

“What are you still here for? Do you have a job or are you going to kiss my arms better?” You held out one of your hands and waited, patiently. The air was still, harsh, sharp. Like you were standing in the middle of a sandstorm that so graciously avoided tearing into your skin. Reaper was silent. Not even the sound of his breath scraping through his mask. And then slowly, slowly, slowly, his shoulders raised and his fists curled. You were bad for his blood pressure. Whoops.

Then he relaxed. A slow breath that you couldn’t hear, the lowering of his shoulders, the uncurling of his hands. He set the box down on a training barrier and pulled out a few bandages. You were impressed; he didn’t seem like the type to play chicken with you. It seemed someone had finally developed thick enough skin to handle you. That was disappointing, who else would you cause emotional torment to on a daily basis. Moira? Please. Moira already knew and accepted your shit. She was like a cat owner with a cat that dedicated its life to fucking up the rest of the building pets. She had reached a higher state of tolerance, you could not defeat her. Maybe you could just double down. 

You certainly won’t going to lose this stare down. You kept your arm outstretched as he wiped the blood off your arms and slathered antiseptic gel over the open scrapes. He took his sweet time in wrapping the bandages over your limb, securing them comfortably before he switched to your other arm. His hands were feather light. Which was almost bewildering enough to shake a response out of you. He was a merc, a well known one, a skilled one, a dangerous one. One who had absolutely no business having any kind of delicate touch.

But he held your arm like you were made of glass.

You hated it. But you didn’t. It hurt somewhere in your heart that you tried to ignore. Every touch made you taste more and more bitterness. You wanted to snap at him, tear into him, push him back. Burn him. You couldn’t because he would win. You wanted to but you couldn’t. So you smiled and winked and let your arms drop to your sides when he was done. 

“You done?”

“Go home. Don’t come back without your armor.” Reaper slammed the first aid kit back into place but you doubted there was anger behind it. He was too calm. He’d won this particular showdown after all, the bastard.

“Fine, fine. Moira probably wants to watch anyway.” You shrugged, letting your shoulder brush against him as you walked past. One last tiny slight to dull the sting. You barely noticed the rustle of fabric and the sound of footsteps behind you. The silence presence of Amelie and the quiet tapping of Sombra on her screen. Both of them keeping pace with you as you made a beeline for the hangar. You didn’t call them to follow. They didn’t ask. It was nice, though it probably just meant that Sombra was ready to send you out for some work. She could’ve told you before you launched yourself across a room again and again. The bruises wouldn’t stop you from working but still. C’mon.

You walked into the jet and dropped yourself into one of the seats. Like you expected, Sombra walked up to the pilot. It gave you a moment to sit pensively before you had to pretend like you weren’t bothered by Reaper’s apparent medical skills. It was far too sudden a change in personality from him and you had questions. The answers didn’t matter though. You would have to force things back. Make things comfortable again. Well, comfortable for you, but that was the point. Maybe it was a little fucked up but a therapist had always been the only thing missing from your health care.

It was just… very important that you didn’t let anyone get the idea that you were their friend. That you were anything more than a cooperative coworker, at best. You wanted to make damn sure the council saw you in the same annoying but tolerable light that Maximillien saw you. Maybe it was because he knew how destructive you could be. Maybe Reaper was a focus because you couldn’t tell what he thought of you really. Because he himself was dangerous, wasn’t he. Maybe he just saw you as an equal who couldn’t get along. You weren’t sure if you liked that idea or not.

“Hey, spicy or no?” Sombra waved from the other side of the jet, her eyes glued to her screen.

“Those are the best nicknames I’ve ever heard, you have a gift.” But only if Amelie was Spicy and you were No. 

“Haha, very funny.” You looked up to Sombra rolling her eyes at you and brandishing a projection of a menu. Oh. She was asking the wrong jet. The only people here with food opinions were her and the pilot. Amelie’s food preferences could be easily summarised as ‘expensive’ and you weren’t even sure she cared about that. 

“Are we just heading to the drive-thru or is there a place to be?” You hoped it was the latter. Your arms were beginning to settle into a low, steady ache and all you wanted to do was find something to distract yourself. A job well done, maybe a name for you to go chase down, would be awfully nice right now. Nothing soothed your soul like violence against another human being. Or against another human being’s property. You weren’t all that picky. It would just be nice to calm down. To take a deep breath and funnel your frustration into tearing down anything around you. Closing your eyes and taking in the roaring of a building’s foundations buckling under the stress of the fire clawing at the structures. Some people meditated with soft music and incense and some people meditated with shattering class and the bright light of a pyre.

Sombra stood up and resettled herself closer to you and Amelie, poking at the projection. “I thought we could watch some movies. Amelie has a movie theater in her castle.”

“Where could she possibly have room with her expansive collection of cobwebs and 15th century ghosts.” Amelie probably had multiple theaters in her sprawling home now that you thought about it. She might not have put them there to enjoy them but they were there now.

“It’s between the cobwebs in the shape of a dog and the ghost of the little boy that drowned.”

“Ohhhh, you mean across from the three hung witches, I remember now.” You leaned over Sombra’s shoulder to search through the menu, pretending like you didn’t know the blank stare Amelie was sending you wasn’t super amused. Who didn’t want a castle full of ghosts? Most people. It was pretty much guaranteed that Amelie wasn’t one of them but most people preferred ghost free households regardless of house size.

Cowards.

As soon as she hit the seat Sombra returned to merrily flipping her way through various menus and trying unsuccessfully to ignore Amelie’s hand reaching over and poking items as she was trying to scroll. You took the seat to Sombra’s other side, mischief in your heart. Sure you ended up with a cart full of things none of you were going to eat but Sombra gave up control halfway through the trip so. Small victories.


	11. Salt and Smoke

The desert wasn’t your favorite place. It was a horizon line made of accidental fires and things that so easily gave into flame. You didn’t get sick in the heat, not anymore, but the memories still trace goosebumps into your skin. It was aggravating. You were anything but weak. Lately you’d been getting more and more bothered by every little thing, ever since the encounter with Reaper. You should have burnt that bastard before he got close. Your bruises were none of his business. It wasn’t all his fault, that was obvious and yet. He was still the proverbial last straw. Everything else was coming in a cascade of bad memories and upset. You hated it. You were better than this. You were a mercenary, a sometimes assassin, a constant threat, a goddamn fire breathing monster. It took a long fucking time to get the fire breathing trick down too. You didn’t burn off your eyebrows once for nothing.

You were eager to take off when Sombra finally approached you with a job. Any distraction would have done but this was, interesting. You weren’t really the thief type. Most people hired you to kill or destroy, or both. But she wanted you to steal something. A box, a metallic suitcase, something small and inconsequential. Something that looked like it would be good bait for an amateur. Maybe that’s what this was, a test to see if you could be useful to her. It would imply she intended you to steal again. It was certainly an attention grabber.

The facility was just outside Vegas, offering you a convenient place to relax before and disappear after. It didn’t matter how different a person was. A big enough crowd, a loud enough party, enough noise and light and movement… you would be easily lost if you chose to be. It was nice having a job with such a good out. Chases could be entertaining but exhausting and you were never one to turn down an easy opportunity.

You walked there. The buildings became sparse and the road lost its sidewalk but no one looked at you twice as you passed by cars and windows. Enough people that you weren’t of interest, but not so many that you would have to worry about third parties getting in the middle of your business. It was no longer a policy to be concerned about innocent strangers getting caught in the middle of one of your fires but it wasn’t preferred. Innocent people on fire tended to become the talk of the town. Even if that talk never made it national or international, it was still annoying. Stories and gossip counted as leaving something behind.

The facility was unimpressive. A thin chain link fence with some barbed wire on top. A group of white square buildings with only an address no signs. A single security car with a single person on their phone. You could see the blue light reflecting against the windows, framing the silhouette of a dipped inattentive figure. There was nothing in here that could be worth very much. But a deal was a deal. And you wanted those names.

Part of you wanted to set the security car on fire. You stopped yourself with an annoyed sigh, walking towards the opposite end of the block. This fire would have to start small but smokey, the kind that pushed billowing flags into the sky to wave before it really began. You held your phone to your face as you watched it until the security car came racing past towards the fire. Perfect. The building you wanted was behind the first row, and now nothing stood between it and you. Not that the security guard was really an obstacle but there was no shame in covering your bases. Who doesn’t love a good smokescreen? Someone who loves a better smokescreen. Someone who pulls on the flames to guide them towards neighboring buildings. You fully intended to burn this thing down whether you were asked to or not. It was your thing.

The door was locked, surprisingly. You had no idea how to pick locks. That was the realm of Sombra and other agents in a similar role. You probably should have learned at some point but you were busy not doing that. You were doing other things. Like. Burning stuff. And having a very active social life. And by very active social life, you meant the rare afternoon spent with Moira tasting various brands of whiskey. To be fair it was more fun than learning to pick locks.

You shrugged and placed your hand flat on the door, letting the fire bubble against your hand, the flames going a bright, almost white blue. The metal glowed and then melted. You carefully pushed it open while avoiding stepping in the molten metal goop. It was weird how quick you just decided molten metal was real close to phlegm but we’re here now aren’t we. It’s just sitting there, shiny and yellow. Could be honey. Could be maple syrup. Could even be amber. But no. No it’s phlegm. It’s phlegm and you did that to yourself.

The inside was nicer than the outside. An immediate set of doorways, each marked and set with a keypad and scanner lock. It was fancy, but if the first lock couldn’t keep you out these probably couldn’t. Even if they were extremely heat resistant you had a trick up your sleeve. That trick was your phone and pressing the button to alert Sombra twenty times in a row. She would answer the first time but you ‘didn’t know that’. You weren’t ‘as technologically skilled’ as she was. You were just brute force. You saw a button and you pushed it. You doubted the game worked on her but damn if you weren’t going to play it anyway. Wasn’t like her jobs were any fun.

An alarm began to steadily blare as you turned the corner towards your destination. But no security appeared. The halls were quiet, still. There was no resistance as you found the door with your prize inside. Just another melted lock and destroyed hinges and a heavy thud of the door falling inward. Your case, chained to a metal table, the chain easily destroyed. The case was pretty heavy, unusual really. Most of these cases were light. What did Sombra want?

Oh well. None of your business.It was going to get you one step closer to closure. Or vengeance. You weren’t going to be picky now, not when the ball was already rolling. The door to the past was already closed but. But who didn’t like welding it shut?

Noise erupted as you started walking back towards the open door. Chaos, massive thuds, gunshots, shouts. Too close to your position. Why were they so close? You cursed under your breath and drew up a ball of fire into your free hand. There must have been cameras in the room with the case. A bit sloppy of you, but no one needed to know. It would be your special secret if this place was nothing more than ashes and the unsavory smell of molten plastic. An omnic was standing in front of the door, swiveling to aim its guns towards you. A flick of your fingertips spread the fireball into a wall, slamming the omnic into the building behind it. You pushed heat into the flame. Red. Yellow. White. Frying the circuits and melting the composite shell into the wall. A second omnic was devoured by a sphere of flame as a third came up from your right.

And a bullet came clean through the head. The metal dropped, simpler than the molten metals and plastics around you. The fire roared around you. It crawled up the buildings, tore through the paint, forced cracks into the concrete as it sunk its claws into the roof and fed upon your fury.

Jesse McCree smiled at you. Put his pistol in its holster like the damn fool that he was. “Thought I’d find you around here when I saw that building on fire. It’s been too long.”

Like he didn’t notice the fires rising around you. The previously untouched building behind you bleching smoke illuminated by a trailing pool of firelight twisting the tile in the empty hallway, the crack of stressed foundations, the fading sunlight being swiftly stamped out by night and rage. He always played this way. He didn’t have to, not around you, you who knew him better than that. But he was doing it anyway. Jackass.

“The fuck do you want, McCree.” He wasn’t there to vulture around for a bounty, that was for sure. You didn’t care how much of a reputation boost they were bounties were more of a hassle than you were interested in. Unless he was about to try to tackle you for the case in your hand. In which case, rest in peace cowboy.

“Nothing really. Handled it before I came over. Heard you were working for Talon now. Is that… right?” His smile slipped just barely. His eyes had too much concern in them. Not anger. Not sadness. You didn’t need anyone’s pity, especially not his.

“What, do I look like the hero type all of a sudden?” 

“You don’t look like the hurting people type.” McCree kept his distance. But he didn’t move back, even though the heat was making the air shimmer just feet away from you. He just stood in the dusty smoke clogged haze. Watching you. Was this what Sombra intended? To meet you face to face with McCree? As much as you hated him, as long as you’d hated him… It wasn’t him. Didn’t mean you wouldn’t set his ass on fire, but, it wasn’t him. That wasn’t his style. 

“Oh, I can assure you, I fucking hurt people.”

You could hurt him. The fire was spreading to the other buildings, reaching to converge with the existing blaze. It would be so easy to just pull the flames down in sheets on his head. His smile dropped, one hand lifting to rub the back of his neck. His other hand… When did that happen? Who cut off his damn arm and why. Or did he lose it doing some nonsense maneuver trying to- No. It didn’t matter. Fuck him and fuck his hand. 

“Why?”

What. The crackle of the fire was gentle behind you. Sirens called from blocks away. They would be here soon, and you would have to be gone before they got here.

“Why go join Talon? Why would you do this.” More concern. Laced with confusion. Hurt.

Fuck him.

“What, like you didn’t see it coming?!” The crackles became snaps, growls, roars. The fire tore its way higher, further, faster. You could taste the bursting chemical containers in the air. Bitterness on top of bitterness. Was the air shifting in a mirage or were you shaking with rage.

Was it rage?

“You thought I was Talon the whole goddamn time right? It was one hell of a reference, I got offered a great fucking benefits package. Nice little sign on bonus. And the vacation time? Fantastic. Thanks.” There was fire in your hair, but you weren’t on fire. It was just sprouting off of you. Sputtering inconsistent sparks. The fire distorted his face, and you hoped it distorted yours. Because there were no tears at the corner of your eyes. There was no pain in your expression. That hurt was done. It was fucking done.

“I never thought that.” It was his first step towards you. You weren’t about to let him take another.

“Go lie to someone else McCree.” You turned around. Called a wall of fire to stand between you.

“Wait-Arson, listen damnit!”

You couldn’t hear him. You couldn’t and even if you could you were already reaching into your phone to message Sombra. You needed extraction. McCree would find you and if he didn’t intend on taking the case or turning you in, he would still find a way to get on your nerves. Who would’ve expected him to be a salt in the wounds type. But Sombra wasn’t fucking answering and you knew Moira was busy at a conference. It left you with one option. You sighed and pressed the emergency signal. The response came almost immediately, A black emblem bearing a purple W and the audible snap of a rifle being put together.

“I’m coming.”


	12. Admitting Truths

It was easy enough to put space between you and McCree in Vegas. Not enough for you to relax, but enough to give Amelie the time she needed to meet you at the private airfield you were lurking around. A small flame worried the backs of your fingers as a jet came to a stop in front of you. You felt cold. It was a rare feeling for you, one that rested in the pit of your gut, spiking up your ribcage. Walking forward masked the shake that still shifted your body. You were fine. You were… you were fine.

Amelie was waiting for you at the entrance to the jet, rifle in hand, visor down and scanning the outskirts of the airfield. There was safety under her gaze. Maybe a little shame. 

You could have just burned him.

She didn’t move from her perch until you were inside, moving to hover inside the door even as the plane was taking off. Waiting for something to delay the jet. There wasn’t much to fear from a pistol being pointed at the engines but you couldn’t move yourself to tell her. You were tired. All you wanted to do was get Sombra her case and then go to sleep. For as long as you could. A week solid, maybe two.

“Who was it?” Amelie sat beside you, offering you a chilled bottle of wine. You took it, downing a few gulps just to get sensation back in your throat. Undo the stress induced numbing even a little. 

“Jesse McCree. Knew me back in Blackwatch. We never got along, I put up a wall of fire and, I figured if he wanted to bother me he’d find a way. Can’t bother me if I’m in the air, surrounded by other Talon members.” Especially not with Amelie around. She had your back, didn’t she. 

You took another long, slow drink.

“Why didn’t you just kill him?”

“He was a useful scapegoat. Unlike me, he has a bounty on his head. Someone sees Jesse McCree walking away from a huge fire like that? Oh it’s his fault for sure.” You grinned at her, “Justice, Baby”

It sounded right. Enough that Amelie didn’t ask again.

It didn’t matter really. You would probably never cross paths again, and if you did, it would just be another opportunity to wipe him off the math. For now he really was useful. You avoided cameras but having his face everywhere was helpful. It put more heat on his tail than there already was though. Which was fine. It wasn’t like he couldn’t dodge the police. He was from Blackwatch, after all. You would be even more pissed if he ruined your good name.

Sombra could erase the evidence of either of you being there if you asked. And also because she owed you. Running into McCree was not part of the mission plan. Sure, you blamed him, but killing him was messy and you had things to do. His death wouldn’t fix any of your problems anyway. You knew he wasn’t the mole. The man was horrifically bad at undercover work. Not that you were a master of it but he was truly the worst. Blackwatch, Overwatch, and the little thai place down the street would’ve known he was Talon by the end of the first afternoon. Did he really think you were innocent? If he did. Why.

What did he know.

What did Sombra know, more importantly. You idly traced patterns in the cold metal of the case. You idly tapped her icon on your phone again and let your hand holding it drop down to the side. Why make you engage with McCree. Did she want him out of the picture, or you. Did she want to recruit him for her business? Why send you of all people to do that. Maybe it was pure coincidence and she had no ulterior motives at all. Maybe she just wanted the box and was busy. And maybe you were about to bust out with ice powers and turn to the side of good.

“Hey.”

You lifted your phone back up and gave your weariest, least enthusiastic expression possible. Sombra gave you her little finger wave and just stood there smiling back at you. 

“You didn’t tell me McCree was going to be there.”

“Oh? Sorry, I thought you could handle him. You look fine.” She wasn’t the slightest bit sorry but she wasn’t wrong either. You could’ve taken him down. Might not get the chance the next time you meet, especially if he sees you from a distance. But this time you could’ve ended the problem before it began. You didn’t. But you could have. Should have.

“He was more annoying than threatening. Always has been. Regardless, Amelie came to lift me out. Otherwise I would’ve had to tolerate him longer than I want to.”

Sombra smiled, “I’ll let Reaper know you have his most recent location.”

“Oh, that’ll be ideal.” You huffed, at first displeased to have Reaper know your most recent location in the bargain. Sure, Talon generally knew, but you wanted him to have as few details as humanly possible. But then again, if you could have your new biggest thorn take on your old biggest thorn… well that could be interesting. A shame you couldn’t be there to watch it all go down. But Reaper would never come to your aid if you needed him, and if you stayed he’d just order you to handle it yourself. Oh well, wishful thinking.

“Don’t be so grumpy. You’re about to get some shiny new toys. Cheer up!”

“Explain.”

“It’s some shiny tech. It’ll put a force field around you when you’re launching, No more bumps and bruises. Plus, it’ll hurt a little more if you run into someone, instead of something.” Sombra replaced her face with a series of schematics. The math of it didn’t matter though. Some extra shielding would do wonders out in the field. Especially against ranged enemies. You let a smile creep out onto your face for once.

“Well damn. Now I’m excited.” 

“I knew you’d like it. I’m all about giving.” Sombra gave a smug little shift of her shoulders, leaning back with a pleased twist of her lips. You rolled your eyes. Shame on you for boosting her ego when it didn’t need boosting. You could have saved that for Amelie, maybe even Moira. It had been a while since you’d seen her. Most of your time lately had been snatched up by Talon missions, or time spent training with Amelie, or Sombra spamming your phone with pictures of horses with dog teeth photoshopped onto them at 3 in the morning. You keep thinking she’d run out eventually but so far her stores seemed endless.

“Giving people headaches maybe. Am I bringing this somewhere specific or just taking it to Moira?” Could be a convenient multi-purpose trip. Give Moira the data on your experiments earlier, maybe hear what she had lined up for the future, and then surprise her with a parting gift of some tech. It wasn’t her field but she could easily repurpose someone else’s research. Talon should really get its hands on an engineer though. A good one, not the small fry the council had messing around in the basement.

“You and Moira, I’m jealous. Aren’t I your best friend too?” Sombra grinned and you just rolled your eyes.

“Sure Sombra, we’re the very best of friends.”

Her expression softened and she just nodded for a moment. “Then you can come visit me. Bring Amelie too, the three of us can get into some trouble.”

“Is trouble codeword for a nap.”

“Is nap codeword for drinking shots and breaking into a bank?”

Amelie peered over your shoulder at the screen. “What city?”

Sombra’s face lept back into her trademark grin and the screen went black, leaving you and Amelie in the dark. You hoped it was somewhere you’d never been before. Partly because you generally liked the cities you’ve been to and would like to go back. But also, you sort of just felt like something new. Like change. If you couldn’t stop by Moira’s lab, then, then there had to be something else you could change. Something else you could find new and exciting. Something to chase the past away.

“We’re going to end up doing shots that have sprinkles on the rim again.” You groaned, “They were so pretty, and so nasty.”

“We can smuggle wine in a bag.” Amelie tapped the bottle tucked between you and your seat. 

“Thanks, by the way.” You fiddled with your phone, flipping through the apps until you could settle on something mindless to do. “For picking me up.”

“You’re my friend.”

You glanced up in surprise. Amelie wasn’t looking at you, her gaze was shifted away. She was right though. If there was one thing Amelie didn’t do it was lie. At least, she didn’t lie before. With your influence it was only a matter of time. If you could avoid telling the truth you would, especially if the person you were talking to knew the truth already. That was the best.

“Yeah. You’re right.” You leaned back and closed your eyes. Friendship was never your intention. But you spent so much time with Amelie. It was either going to be a rivalry or a friendship, and all of your energy was going to getting on Reaper’s bad side. The idea was… unsteady. Amelie was dependable. Amelie was non-judgemental. Amelie knew you. She knew you and still took off in a jet to Vegas to pick you up so a cowboy wouldn’t talk to you. It was flippant and unnecessary and there she was anyway. But once bitten, twice shy… Maybe you were unconsciously ignoring lessons learned. It was in your nature.

Two friends. That was. That was just fine. You were more than stable enough to handle two friends; you’d been doing it just fine for a long while without even knowing it. Maybe… Maybe two friends and someone you didn’t entirely hate but also didn’t trust. Two friends and an acquaintance on the do-not-burn list.


	13. Intimidation

“You seem more stable.”

Moira leaned over your arm, calmly collecting samples into various colored tubes. She seemed pleased. Sometimes you wondered if Moira’s eyes were natural and not proof she’d given herself some sort of microscopic vision. She certainly got a lot of information just from slipping a needle into your arm and watching your blood come out.

“Stable as in?”

“Emotionally. Lacroix truly found a way to extend her usefulness.” Ah. That was the nicest thing you’d ever heard Moira say about your coworkers. 

“Should I tell her thanks?”

Moira immediately shook her head, popping another tube into its holder and selecting another one to attach to the syringe line. “I’m sure Lacroix is aware of her effect on you, both socially and professionally.”

At least Moira was happy about it. You couldn’t really ask for more than that, unless asking for lunch was on the table. Blood draws make everyone hungry. Although, you would also take Reaper fucking off and not interrupting your friendship time. The two of you were just about to start gossiping. He stepped in as Moira was taking another syringe from your arm, and froze as she calmly dropped the tube into her tray. Moira looked up at him with a calm smile.

“You’re early.”

“Wait your turn. I got here first.” You waved with a limp swish of your hand, laying back like you were relaxing at the spa. You could feel Moira shifting beside you to slip another tube into place. Footsteps stomped across the room, stopping just short of her. You opened your eyes to Reaper hover his hands over your arm for a moment’s hesitation before he removed the needle. Moira didn’t move but didn’t stop him from securing a cotton ball and bandaid to the small dot of blood.

“We have a job to do. Let’s go.” Reaper didn’t wait for you to react. As fast as he walked in he stormed out, with all of the classic grace you’d come to expect from him. You glanced over at Moira and the amusement in her eyes.

“You done or do we make him wait?”

“Oh, you can go. I’ve got what I need.” Moira motioned for you to follow him, “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Thanks for the confidence as always, see you on Friday.” You waved, seeking down the moody spectre. You found him lurking at a helipad. He was pacing, one hand to his ear, the other curled in a fist at his side. He hung up before you got close enough to hear a tasty biscuit though. A shame. It clearly wasn’t a great conversation if the way he threw open the door and waited for you to step into the helicopter was any indication.

Reaper slammed the door shut and dropped himself into the seat across from you. His foot immediately began to tap on the ground. A shake that slid up his leg to the tapping of his clawed fingertips against the crooks of his elbows. Movement that bent his neck to force his mask to gaze on the ground between you. You waved to catch his attention, watching his body curl slightly into itself before stretching back to his full height. Still moving though. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Hey. So what are my orders?”

For a moment he goes still. Lets the silence do the moving, an uneasy shift that glows around him. And then he sighs, fast and harsh, “I’m, having a conversation with someone. You’re coming for intimidation. Set all the fires you want.”

“You’re bringing me, for intimidation.” You leaned forward, raising your eyebrows, “What, are we meeting with the one person who knows your secret hobby? What is it, knitting? No there are needles involved. Crocheting those cute octopus things for babies. Gardening. You’re secretly a celebrity chef. You were the repeat return guest of a reality tv show about strangers sharing a house. You’re a character actor in a theme park.”

“Just do your job.”

“Am I getting on your nerves, Boss?”

Reaper flinched. It was small, but the only thing for you to stare at was him. You noticed the little jerk, the way he stiffened and forced himself to relax. You listened to him take a deep breath through the slits in his mask. Noted the way he held back a sigh.

“No.”

“No?” You raised an eyebrow. Interesting of him to lie to your face like that. Even if you weren’t annoying him you could read him well enough. Reaper wore a mask but he was an open book regardless. It didn’t seem to hold his career back but it made him so interesting to mess around with. He shifted to face himself away from you, towards the tiny helicopter window. Trying to close himself off. But you could see the way his head just slightly tilted towards you. Waiting. Well. Who were you to deny him when he was being so patient.

“That’s a shame. I tried really hard you know. I even avoided lazing around on your property so you couldn’t get acclimated to my presence, like Maximillien.” Not that you were allowed back in Monaco, or his place in Cuba, or his place out in Oregon. You were still allowed in his place in Hong Kong but how long would that last.

“I guess you’ll have to start then.”

“What?” You managed to clear your face of surprise before he turned back towards you, but somehow you had the sense that he saw it anyway. Or sensed it. Tasted it in the air. And you could practically feel the smug smile on his face despite that mask hiding it away from you. It didn’t get on your nerves though. Not even a little.

“You know where my offices are, don’t you.”

You blinked, mouth slightly open, the taste of wordlessness finally settling itself onto your tongue. It was rare that you were caught off guard. Even then, it was generally something small. Something you could easily recover from and fire back. But he metaphorically walked over and shoved you into a pool. Dunked a bucket of ice on your head. And you could just, feel that smile. Oh you were going to have to get him back. Maybe spray that weird aerosol cheese into his desk drawer or something. Leave glitter in circles around all of his furniture like you were trying to ward him out of his own office.

Slowly your shock transitioned into an amused smirk. You weren’t entirely opposed, to a little bit of a game. Especially with someone who couldn’t hide a thought for the life of him. You could see the caution in the tight wrap of his arms folded together. The curious tilt of his head. The way he ever so slightly leaned towards you. Waiting.

“Don’t blame me if I have to burn my way in then. You probably need redecorating anyway, maybe a light fixture or two. I’ll be nice and bring in a lamp the first time but I will use your paperwork as kindling.”

Another huff and then silence. You would take it for now. There was no need for you to charge through the whole game until there was nothing left. You could savor things when you had the occasion to do so. You didn’t always have to burn everything up in a single fury; that was just a general preference. You could linger on things. Maybe. Probably not but you could try your hardest and he would just have to deal with the aftermath one way or another. He was certainly starting this. You would have been happy to keep building up animosity until one of you was at the other’s throat.

You stepped out of the helicopter first, stepping to the side. It didn’t look like anything. A small seaside landing pad, next to a large seaport with dozens of warehouses. Metal held together by duct tape and oozing rust. Not the most flammable things but you could certainly tear down one or two to entertain yourself.

Reaper strode past you like he owned the place, not bothering to look your way when you took your place slightly behind him. He pushed open the nearest warehouse doors to reveal a crowd of shifty looking people and a room full of stalls. Looked like a black market situation. What could any of them possibly have that he needed to look for the seller personally? You could ask Talon for anything in the world and they probably had it in a storage room somewhere. Talon didn’t need to do deals with common smugglers. But that didn’t stop him from charging through the crowd. A few scattered out of his way quickly. The rest were encouraged by a lick of flame slipping over his shoulder. 

There was one stall in the back lined with sequined clothing. The sort that you would find at a county fair in a buy 3 for 20 deal. Nothing particularly ugly but also nothing you would wear outside of that very fair. But honestly they did a community service. If you went to fucking town on one of those big plates of curly fries you were going to need new clothes at the end of it all. The shirt you were wearing before did it’s job. Now it must be laid to rest leaving you to spend the rest of the night fucking rocking your blue sequin eagle tank.

Not that you’ve been there. You just understand.

Those tank tops are really alluring after too many french fries.

Reaper stepped in and waited for you to follow him through the racks of clothes till you reached the person in the back. A wirey, older man with a heavy cybernetic jaw weighing his head down. He took one look at Reaper and took off running. Or he attempted to. Downfall of setting up your operation in a cloak of cheap fabric and shiny plastic, it burned real well. You held back the fire from getting too close to you or Reaper and looked towards the now panicking figure trying to crouch behind the burning racks.

“Want me to keep it off of him or nah.”

“He knows what he did. Let him burn.” Reaper motioned for you to clear a way through for the two of you to leave, departing as the marketplace fell into a swarm of fear and fury. He didn’t bother pulling out his shotguns. You were already there with lines of fire laying out a runway for the two of you to strut down on your way out.

Maybe Reaper made a good call. He did look pretty intimidating when wreathed with fire. Like he was more than comfortable being at the center of your pyre. Intriguing.


	14. Making a Scene

The business district in New York was a bustling hive of glass and greed, dripping with self-importance and gucci suits. At least Wall Street itself had the decency to play up its historical significance in a weak attempt of covering up the mangy dogs snapping at whoever got too close to the office doors. Heaven forbid someone else gets close enough to join the ranks and possibly take some of the money away from them. As though everything they own couldn’t get yanked by someone in the underworld in the blink of an eye, whether it be by fire or theft. Didn’t matter which. Gone was gone.

But far be it from you to shake them all from their delusions. You weren’t getting paid to care about whatever bullshit these assholes were up to behind closed doors. You, technically, weren’t getting paid to be there at all. This was personal.

You watched a car pull up to the financial center across the street from the bistro you were lounging in from behind your phone. The man who stepped out was the same sitting on your screen. Average height, dull brown hair freshly cut according to his schedule, suit perfectly tailored. He didn’t even look at the driver who opened the door for him. He just marched, shoulders back and chin lifted, into the building he worked at.

And you followed.

It was easy to slip towards the staircase when he was getting onto the elevator. The man was engrossed in the reflection of the glass elevator walls, too busy looking his suit over to notice a familiar figure passing by. You didn’t know him personally but you knew his face. Before he made it in banking, before he even entered the business sector, he was a quartermaster. He dispensed equipment to Blackwatch agents before missions. He dispensed ammo to you. It was a passing acquaintance, nothing that would mark his name in your memory. But his name was on files, files handed to you over a bowl of popcorn and a marathon of the worst movies you’d ever seen. You couldn’t tell if they were so bad they were good or if Sombra just enjoyed torturing her friends for funsies.

Regardless. She gave him to you. And you could feel her watchful eyes on the back of your head every time you passed a camera. Doors opened for you that should have remained sealed. Security measures that would keep a normal interloper out were distracted or simply disarmed. You weren’t there to flex your skills, you were there to burn.

His office was nice. Leather couches, glass furniture, art on every wall. There was even a delicate metal sculpture in one corner of the room with a single focused light on it. It was both sparse and dripping in luxury; the empty space was as much as a boast as anything else. Anything that could be there could simply be delivered to him on a silver platter. There was a bar at the far end; because nothing said professionalism like getting blitzed at work. And that’s where he was. Mixing himself a drink at, what was it, 4 in the afternoon? A hero, a champion. He didn’t even notice you in the room until you were close enough to reach out and slap him.

“What are you doing in my offi-” And then a stop. A wrinkle in his brow. A slight purse in his lips. And then the widening of his eyes and the smallest step back. Recognition.

“Oh, you remember me? I’m touched. I can’t say the same about you really. You look familiar but your name escapes me. Oh no, don’t bother telling me, I don’t care. We both know that, right?”

He straightened his back and took a sip from his glass, glaring down at his nose at you, “Who let you in here.”

“No one. Well, that’s no true. Plenty of people let me in. Your security is really bad, they didn’t notice a stranger wandering their way right into an executive’s office? Your secretary isn’t even at the desk right now. Not that I think they don’t deserve their break but I walked past an awful lot of people,” You smirked, “Maybe I look like I belong. What do you think?”

His eyes kept flashing towards his desk. Where his panic button was hidden, no doubt. A foolish thing to not have more than one scattered about the room. He could always go with the classic. He could always scream. It wouldn’t save him but he could.

“I think you must want something. What is it, let’s make it quick. I have a dinner reservation that I don’t want to be late for.” He put down his drink and waited. And for a moment you considered all the things you could drag out of him. But you didn’t need money, you had money. In bank accounts and pillow cases and hollowed out rocks in the middle of national parks. A thousand safety nests scattered over the globe and if one was found it didn’t matter; there were a thousand more. You didn’t need connections that wasn’t your game. If you wanted a meeting with someone Talon would provide. Stuff? You had stuff. He had nothing you wanted. Except, well.

“I want to know why you betrayed Blackwatch.” You leaned back onto his desk, reaching back to fiddle with the fancy fountain pen he had sitting there for the hell of it. Couldn’t be the top if you didn’t have extravagant and unnecessary ink lying around. He looked intrigued, like he had a chance. Like you were weak and vulnerable. But he didn’t know how pointless his words were. You were just keeping him talking for a few more seconds.

“Oh that? Why do you care, I heard what they did to you.” He shrugged and grinned, motioning around to his office. “Anyway, look around. Overwatch was just holding everything back. Me, you, everything. It was a shame what happened to Reyes but it was just business.”

He had the gall to turn away from you to make himself another drink. You let him. There was nothing else he could do now. There was no call he could make, no weapon he could pull. He wasn’t trained like you were. He had failed in keeping you out and this was it. Waiting for the inevitable with a glass of scotch in his hand and his foot in his mouth.

“So I let you in here so we could talk business.” 

“You let me in here? And here I thought you just used me as a scapegoat.” You smiled. He was underestimating you, that was cute. As though you spent the last five years playing poker in a smoke-filled backroom somewhere.

“Ah. That. I won’t lie, that was convenient. Wasn’t me, but it was convenient. I can make it up to you though. An ex-Blackwatch member is a valuable commodity, even to someone like me. A bodyguard like you? Worth a team of men and far more inconspicuous. We could even dress you up, make you look… approachable. Not that the leather doesn’t suit you, it’s just not classy.”

You tried to keep your laugh to yourself. It was practically an insult. There were a thousand ways to buy your loyalty and countless people that could do it. But he wasn’t one of them. 

“Thanks but, professionally speaking, I don’t think I’m cut out for inconspicuous work.” You smile, lifting your hand, letting flames lick up your palm, “But it sounds like it’s going to be a fun afternoon so, thanks for that.”

He opened his mouth to speak but ended up screaming. The fire had enrobed him in a fraction of a second. You took the glass of whiskey off the counter, toasting at him before downing it and leaving the room. It wasn’t as satisfying as you were hoping for. Maybe you were expecting a better reason than cash. But that was the only reason you ever did anything. Whether or not that was still true… You’d figure it out later. 

For now, you headed out of the stairs, grinning at the guns that swung your way. Too slow. Did he tell them nothing? No quick murmur into a headset. Watch out for the fire, the roaring flames that tore down the hallway and ravenously bit into the guards that were trying to run your way. The alarms came next, loud and incessant and pointless. You ran for the stairs and kicked the door in with another wall of flame. You let the fire pour down like water, drenching the stone stairs, bubbling around the ankles of the team running up to meet you on the stairwell. Stray shots peppered the walls around you even as they went down. Enough to force you out of the stairs after just a few flights. This wasn’t a threat but it would be a challenge.

You beelined for the other stairs, letting fire catch wherever it pleased as you passed. Papers gone in a flash, glass popping, plastic melting. This whole place was going to go down with its master. Dragged down into a pile of molten glass and ash. Maybe that would be your legacy. A bird crumb trail of destruction leading right to the name of a mercenary bathed in rage.

Footsteps followed you now. Gunfire and shouting. Ash. In your mouth, on your skin, in your hair. An anger that bubbled up like bile. All of this, all of this wealth and power, and at your expense. 

You had been to the ruins. Once.

Your home. In Tatters.

There was little to prove that the rubble had once been the headquarters of Overwatch. There was a sign, sure. A little metal plaque commemorating heroes and the fallen. A joke. It was there to say it was there but small enough that the city around it could pretend like they had no part in the situation. You couldn’t see the building you slept in. Couldn’t see the building you trained in. Couldn’t see the building they brought you through when you were first being escorted into that interrogation room. There was nothing to see and nothing to remember. So you left, went a few blocks down, ate at a little thai place that knew your face too well after all these years and still said nothing.

You were crying. Not a lot, a few trails down your cheeks but it didn’t stop even as you encountered another group of guards trying to bring you down. Your flames weren’t controlled but you didn’t think they needed to be. It didn’t matter. Everything would burn. You stopped heading towards the exit and started hunting. Looking for the groups of hired hands that had been sent to stop you or avenge him, or both. It didn’t matter. They were kindling regardless. All of them. You would burn the world to the ground just like everything else in your life. A world of ash and ruin.

You wiped away your tears and told yourself it didn’t matter. It was a chant, your very own private chant, emphasized by the gunshots that rang out with every wave of people that came towards you.

Melting glass has a smell. Primarily, the smell of water, evaporating off its surface in a great puff of steam that blends into the smoke. But the glass itself. There’s something there. Maybe it’s just the smell of heat, maybe it’s really the smell of the tint, maybe it’s a thousand other things that don’t matter. But when you leave the building the air is filled with the snap of shattering glass and the splatter of molten glass around the doorway where your fire was the closest to its source.

You weren’t expecting the deep pool of night waiting for you in the small pathway that lead from the back of the building to the half-assed ‘courtyard’ that connected it to its neighbors. Shadow dark enough that the blinding firelight wasn’t enough to cut through it. A single scream came from it, cut short before it could really compete with the roaring flames behind you. As you walked through it the shadows barely shifted. Like they weren’t afraid of the light in your hands. You smothered the fireball you were carrying and stepped over the corpse he just left there in the middle of the sidewalk. Reaper collected his darkness as the two of you slipped out unnoticed into the streets. Or at least, unnoticed by anyone brave enough to say something.

“Did you have to act so excessively.” 

You shrugged. “Absolutely. What’s the fucking point of having fire powers if I don’t regularly bring down skyscrapers.”

Reaper shook his head. You didn’t really care to let him know that you may have lost control a bit. But hey, everyone has to let loose sometimes. You were just a little more destructive than the average person when you were past your limit. It felt… bad. But it was over and now you were surrounded by the safe shroud of nightfall with its avatar walking at your side. 

“So, what brought you to the neighborhood?”

“One of my targets was here and you attract all the attention.” His head tilted towards you, bright white mask on full display. “People can’t look away.”

“Didn’t think you’d be interested in sinking into my shadow.”

“You’d be surprised.”

He was turning away when your gaze snapped to him, a small smile playing on your lips. He must think he’s clever. His chin was raised, shoulders relaxed, satisfaction slipping itself loosely around him. You could admit that he earned it. The sight of the shadows drenching the courtyard was a relief. You liked familiar things even if you were willing to throw them all away. Anything could be sacrificed in the name of survival. But what was the point of surviving if you didn’t smile at your coworker’s awful jokes once in a while. If you didn’t casually walk down the street with him like he wasn’t an international criminal and you weren’t just as bad. It was just a different brand of denial. One that ended in an unremarkable car, down a poorly lit road, with a shitty offbrand bottle of soda and a bag of chips between the two of you that he didn’t reach for. 

“I probably should have asked earlier but where are we going?” You didn’t care really. If he wanted to fight you were confident you could at least stir up a wildfire to keep him at bay long enough to fuck off into the night. If it came to that. Maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe you would splash him in the face with the nerf equivalent of a fireball a few times and he would walk away. You wouldn’t know until you tried.

“There’s more of them that need killing. Not all are in the city.” Reaper adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, freeing a hand to tap on the dash’s screen. The file displayed a pleasant-looking woman with a nasty looking background. Kidnapping, murder, blackmail. She wasn’t directly in Overwatch at the time but she set the stage for the main moles to do their jobs. You didn’t mind burning her house down… with her in it.

“So you’re in this too hm? Should’ve guessed.” You shrugged. “So, you were in Overwatch too, hm? Or are you just real angry at these people for completely unrelated missions.”

Silence. You could practically see him curling back into himself. You waved your hand as though dismissing the question, noisy shoving a handful of chips into your mouth. You didn’t need an answer. It wasn’t any of your business at the moment. Or at all. You weren’t interested in opportunities to reconnect with anyone from the good old days. Moira and Amelie were more than enough. 

“Ask me something else.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. He didn’t say anything else, just drove, and waited. “What’s your favorite kind of food?”

“Really?”

“What do you think I keep an internal log of all the stuff I want to know about you? It’s a short list, a fleeting list, one that will be forgotten as soon as I get better snacks.” You shake the chip back at him for emphasis. He shakes his head before sighing.

“Thai.”

“Oh? You’ll have to get me some, one of these days. Know anywhere good?” He’s silent, for a while. A long while. But slowly he nods and turns into a small private airfield where Talon had a jet waiting.

“I know a place.”


	15. Salt in Scars

Amelie had gone furniture shopping again. You didn’t know why and didn’t bother asking. It was just what she needed to do and anything more was none of your business. You just sat on her balcony with her, sharing a bottle of wine while you idly burned your way through her old memories, getting them out of sight and out of mind.Your fingertips were tracing patterns against the top of a wooden table, cherrywood. A floral scent brought on by lazily petaled flowers spiraling out from the center of the table. You weren’t sure when Amelie turned her chair to face your bored doodling rather than her usual view of the lake. Somehow your afternoon turned into the two of you watching the wood burn in spiralized patterns. Both mesmerizing and utterly boring. You couldn’t stop but you would be willing to pay any amount of cash for something else to do. Anything. Literally anything.

“How long have we been sitting here watching wood burn?” You lifted your finger from the ending point, where the last touch finally met the first, to pour yourself another glass of wine. It was warm by this point. Sticky and a little tacky and sickly sweet. Dryer than it should have felt had you tasted it when it was still fresh out of a newly opened bottle. It felt like drinking cheap grape juice stolen off the counters of a liquor store that hadn’t restocked grape juice in several years.

“I only put finished pieces in my house.” Amelie stood up, circling the table and staring down at the pattern as she moved.

“Please tell me you’re not putting this back in the house.” No answer, only more circling, more sipping of her nearly empty glass.

“Ugh you are. It’s like getting my crayon mess put up on the fridge so everyone can see it.”

“Now that you mention it, I’ll put it in the entryway.” She looked up at you. Were it anyone else there would have been mischief in those eyes. Instead there was just the same calm there ever was. You weren’t sure her entire ‘not feeling anything’ trait was entirely true but you weren’t going to mention it if she didn’t. You got along with Amelie better than the bulk of Talon and vice versa. It was less fire and ice; Amelie wasn’t cold to you. She was more like, the breath of air between rifle shots. Quick, short, restrained. Fire and air worked well together.

“You’re a cruel and horrible friend.”

“Mmhmm. We’re out of wine.” 

“Well shit.” You stood up slowly, stretching from your hours of practical stillness, “What are we going to do Amelie? It’s not like you have a dungeon repurposed into a wine cellar with thousands of bottles of wine.” 

“We have a mission tonight.” Amelie stood up, following you off the balcony. You knew she didn’t care, neither of you could get drunk very easily. It was more a reminder, just in case you decided to forget. But it was hard to dismiss Ogundimu’s request when you’d been spending so much time bouncing between official work for Reaper and unofficial work for Sombra. If you refused there’d be, something interesting, on your record. And what you did was no one’s business but yours.

“Sure we do. And I’m sure we’ll put so much stunning new strategy into it. I most certainly won’t enter from the back and set fire to the building, chasing people out into your sights like a poorly orchestrated shooting gallery,” You grinned, “Fish in a barrel Amelie. You don’t even need it to be so easy and yet, it will be. We’d be better off thinking about what we’re going to do after the mission. I was considering showing up at Moira’s house late at night and pretending I’m shocked to find her still awake.”

Silence. Back to the horizon line and all the thoughts she was hiding away out there. Her fingers tapped their idle patterns on the hard arm of the helicopter seats. You left her there, in her thoughts. There was something in there that you weren’t willing to dig out. Her scabs were thin and you weren’t that callous. Maybe that’s why your days spent in her castle revolved around destroyed tables and alcohol. The two of you trying to blot out a past that you remembered all too clearly. At least, for now, you had the opportunity to soothe those old wounds by tearing through the people that caused them. Amelie didn’t really have that. Maybe you would find it for her some day. It was the least you could do. After all, who else was going to pick you up from a fast food joint at three in the morning? Moira? As if Moira was aware of time or space at three in the morning. The only thing Moira thought about at three in the morning was her projects and how to make good use of rampant insomnia.

One of these days you’d convince Amelie to put a chaise or something in her wine cellar so the two of you could just drink at the source. Your phone began ringing the moment you tried to pick a new bottle but still, you could dream. You could fall into a daze of drinkable daydreams for a few brief moments before you shook yourself back to reality. Just a moment.

“Why did you take so long to answer?”

“Antagonizing you gives me life. What do you need?”

Reaper audibly sighed into the phone. You could hear his metal gauntlets scraping against his mask, the thud of his hand dropping onto his desk. He wasn’t really exasperated. It was humoring you at best and practiced habits at worst. If you were a mess of chaos and open rage then he was a carefully orchestrated performance of grunge and shadow. An actor of enough caliber to give Amelie a run for her money. 

“I wanted to warn you, you might run into ex-overwatch agents tonight.”

“That’s never been a problem for me. Is it someone I should actually be worried about? I heard Wilhem’s still running around. I don’t want to end up in a one on one with him, but Amelie’s with me. I guess I can do my thing while she takes care of them. Ugh, unless it’s McCree again? I mean. I’ll do my job okay? I just hate the guy.”

“I don’t know. If you need back up don’t play games. I’ll be waiting.”

“Will you now? Hmm. I’ll keep that in mind, Boss.” There was a silence on the other line and then, a click. A smile slowly spread across your face. You waved off Amelie’s glance, pointing at the wines. She shrugged and resumed sorting through her collection for whatever obscure bottle she was looking for. You didn’t particularly want to explain yourself. Mostly because it meant figuring it out for yourself first and you absolutely refused to. Avoiding introspection was one of your favorite and only hobbies. You leaned against a wine rack, tapping your fingers against the cold glass.

You wouldn’t mind calling in Reaper to scare off McCree. You didn’t particularly want to kill the man, but you didn’t think that he would let himself get killed so easily. Maybe Reaper would be enough to chase him off for good though. It was the best way to make sure the ‘You’re Talon’ message sunk in. You were working with Reaper of all people. You weren’t his friend. Never were.

Right?

You pushed away from the wine rack. Right. You had friends. Against your very will you had friends. You had a friend handing you two bottles of wine with labels that you couldn’t read both from the fading ancient ink and your inability to read the language. If you could even discern the language. Was that english? French? Italian? Who knew. It was a mystery. Maybe you would find out after you’d downed half the bottle. Oh she was handing you another bottle. Amelie was getting ready for a full afternoon. Maybe you would actually be heading into this mission drunk. Probably not but, maybe. You sure as hell wanted to. You could get really lucky though. It could be someone you don’t even know, the perfect opportunity to get in another kill and do work for Ogundimu. Easy, efficient, and fun.

“Who called?”

“Don’t worry, just my new boyfriend.” You snorted, “Reaper’s pretty good at communicating for one of the higher ups. I mean, none of them really say no if you hang around them. I guess Korpal would be hardest but, to be honest, I don’t really want to lounge in Vishkar headquarters. But still. Reaper checks in pretty often. I like it.”

Amelie cast a strange at you that was ruined by the multiple bottles of wine clutched between her fingers that clinked together with every step. The two of you definitely wouldn’t have time to drink all of those but that didn’t seem to be stopping her from carrying them out of the wine cellar. You shrugged. Maybe she intended to take some of them with you on the flight. Talon usually provided snacks but she could be picky if she wanted to be. It was one of those days. When you were both too tired and amped up to pretend like there weren’t problems weighing down on you. When neither of you had any kind of interest in dealing with it in any meaningful way. You could work it out in the field. Amelie with her rifle, you with your cover fire.

That’s what this was after all. No evidence left behind, not if you burned everything down first. If people got caught up in it all, oops. Amelie on the building overhead, scoping out her target. You in the allies below, sitting on a cardboard box, jacket pulled tight around yourself while you waited. It was quiet for a while. There was, in the distance, the sound of people. But it was like hearing the lake from Amelie’s balcony. So quiet and so far there may as well not even be a lake there. You couldn’t get close, couldn’t interact. They were background noise and you weren’t even on their radar. Yet.

“Are you in position, Wrath?”

“Yeah. Waiting on your signal.” You traced your fingertips against the brick siding of the old building. You didn’t particularly like destroying old architecture. Even if American-old wasn’t as old as it could be. There was still some something worth preserving. Oh well. It wasn’t going to be this place. Honestly, it was their own fault for agreeing to host whatever gala was going on inside. You didn’t pay attention to the debriefing past your order to ‘set it on fire after Amelie shoots’. It’s not like you were about to navigate an intense political climate, or do an arms deal with a fresh new face. No. You hear pow. You set fire. There was exit strategies and all that but it was nothing you didn’t know or hadn’t done before. 

You should’ve gotten something to eat on the way. Maybe sat down with your back to the wall while you had yourself a fun nostalgic alleyway picnic. Bring back the bad old days to get yourself into the right headspace to set a massive building full of people on fire. 

“There’s a problem. We’ve got company.” Amelie’s voice was broken by the sound of gunshots ringing from the rooftops. But you got the idea. You could hear footsteps everywhere, the sounds of shouting, the sounds of panic from the inside. It was time to improvise. A lone guard approached from around the corner, raising his weapon at the worst possible time for him. You snapped your fingers and took off as he went up in flame. You threw fire into the windows, setting the curtains on fire as you headed for the back. The front doors opened into a wide open courtyard: perfect for sniping. You reached your back and set your hands on the brick, pulsing heat into the old stonework.

You don’t know why you pulled out your pistol to shoot the guard you saw out of the corner of your eye. He was just as flammable as the next guy. But you were busy forcing fire through a layer of fairly fire resistant material and you wanted him gone without more of the screams that being burned alive usually brought. You weren’t expecting the bullet to get reflected into the stonework in front of you.

It was too late, really. Your fire was going to cause massive destruction regardless of your direction. People were running in the direction that you wanted. You could hear rifle shots sounded off. The mission was a successYou had a sense of smug satisfaction as you turned to stare at whoever had arrived to help the regular guard ward off a Talon attack. And felt that sense of smug satisfaction just. Drop away. And swiftly get replaced by a deep sense of cold numbness. The kind that wrapped itself around your lungs to save you from the embarrassment of crying in public.

You could tell yourself he was just an omnic. He certainly didn’t look familiar. White armored body, accented with green and grey, nothing like the black you remember. And a face obscured by a mask could simply imply no face at all. You could lie and tell yourself that you thought he was just an omnic. But you knew better. You Knew. You held out your hand to put up a barrier of fire and you… You couldn’t. He didn’t… He just… He abandoned you. That was for sure. But he didn’t, betray you. Didn’t set you up to knock you down he just. He just walked away. He was there for so long and meant so much and then he was gone. And you dropped your hand. Because you couldn’t attack him.

You just closed your eyes. And shrugged. And waited. Because he was there to stop Talon, and you, were Talon.

You may have heard his voice. Briefly. Calling out a name that you no longer responded to and generally pretended never happened. You may have heard a few heavy steps start to come your way. But they were drowned out so quickly. There were shouts and gunfire, and a hand that yanked you roughly up by the back of your jacket like a wayward puppy. Amelie flung you both through the sky, releasing her cord and sending you tumbling onto a nearby rooftop. You only had a second to grasp for air before she pulled you to your feet again. She practically dragged you to the edge of the roof and threw you off. This time you had enough awareness to send a ball of fire downwards, the rush of hot air throwing you to the next roof. Amelie slowed down just enough to make sure you were following before leading the two of you to the rendezvous point.

You wondered if he noticed you. If he even had time before Amelie came to the rescue. You wondered if he would’ve attacked after all, or if he was just as stunned as you were. Maybe he just didn’t remember you at all. Maybe.

“Are you alright.”

“No.”

Amelie just nodded and pulled you into the jet. She didn’t get out the post-mission wine, like she usually did. This was a success. The target was dead. You got out your phone and started to text before you even decided what you were trying to say. Your fingers smudged the letters together into nonsense phrases before you gave up and pressed call.

“Reaper. You were right.”

“Who?”

“... Someone I knew. Very well. Amelie retrieved me after she finished the mission goal.” Silence. You rubbed your forehead. You could have called Moira, she would have understood. You were going to call Moira. Call her and hear her go on and on about overcoming emotional obstacles and leveraging your discomfort to create greater power and eventually she would start talking about a completely unrelated project and you could space out to the sound of her familiar voice.

“I’ll be waiting for you at base then.” You could hear Sombra in the background, shouting about ‘we’ and laughing as Reaper pulled the phone away to tell her to be quiet. You wanted to smile. Instead you just slumped backwards, keeping the phone pressed to your ear.

“Talk to me.”

“Hmph. What, do you want a review?”

You snorted. “A review?”

“You’re impulsive. Reactive. You rarely think ahead. You have skill but ignore it in favor of just throwing fire. You hold yourself back but you’re capable of so much more than what you’ve resigned yourself to doing. But you have passion. You bury it but it’s there. It’s what fuels your power, fuels who you are.”

“Is that a positive review? Or, a negative one.”

“You’re more than hot or cold.”

You sit up, twisting your body until you could stare out the tiny jet windows. “Am I?”

“I’ll be waiting for you.”


	16. Birds of a Feather

Say what you would about Reaper, for good or for bad, he kept his word. The man was waiting for you as the jet landed, arms crossed and for all the world looking like he was angry. Maybe he was. He didn’t say a word to you as you approached, just seemed to stare at you before walking back towards base. Not checking to see if you would follow. You preferred it that way. It was enough that you had to ask for, ask for what. Help? Companionship? A safe place to sit in the corner and set things on fire until the pit in your chest went away?

Amelie watched you before departing to report back to Ogundimu. You watched the doors close behind her and just. Sighed.

“Damn I forgot about the paperwork. I guess I can’t give my ‘report’ to you.”

“Why can’t you.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, too tired for snark. “You’d be willing to go to Doomfist for me? Isn’t that showing your hand a bit?”

Reaper opened the doors to his private quarters. They were dark, lit only by the collection of screens where Sombra sat perched on the edge of her screen. You could see the shadowy outline of figures at the edge of the room. A shooting range. Because nothing said cozy workspace like live rounds. His hand reached out and directed you to a small living area, nothing more than a couch or a coffee table. You let a small flame jump into your hands just to light up the area. It was, actually a pretty nice couch. Plush. Comfortable. You lay back against it and stared up at the abyss of a ceiling above you.

You felt him sit next to you, close enough you could feel the chill of his presence soothing the ache out of your skin but not so close that he brushed against you. Careful, or respectful, maybe both or maybe neither. You weren’t sure that you cared. Not right now. Right now you just wanted to collect yourself. Get the taste of panicked bile out of your mouth. 

You started to speak but let the will drain out of you. Weren’t sure what you wanted to say. That you sorely missed one of your dearest friends, someone who you were ride or die for once upon a time? Someone who saw you tumbling down and did nothing? No calls, no searching, no reaching out. Nothing. Someone left you behind when you needed help and… and you couldn’t even snap a flame at him. Genji. How many times did he drag you out of Blackwatch quarters and make you explore the base with him. How many times did he sit with you watching a movie you knew he hated but would watch because no one else was sitting with you. He was your friend and… You were loyal. Loyalty so deep it coated your bones in ice and frost. What did he think, seeing you with Talon. Was he even surprised. The fire in your palm flickered, and dimmed.

Reaper’s clothing was cold. Confusingly so, really. Enough for you to look over as he shuffled closer to you. Just enough that your arms ran parallel and you could feel the weight of his shoulder against yours. You let the fire in your hand vanish completely and dropped yourself over him like a ragdoll. He grunted, muttered something mildly annoyed sounding under his breath, but didn’t shove you off. He nudged you to lift your head long enough to shove a pillow under it but for the most part he just. Let you lie there. It wasn’t comfortable, his armor made him unsuitable for lounging. It was rough and sharp and dug into your side. But he wasn’t shoving you off. He let you lay there, staring blankly at the wall in front of you, listening to Sombra tap away in the distance.

You weren’t alone. Not even a little bit. Amelie was your almost constant companion. Sombra was always messaging you. Reaper was, what, tolerating you, trying to connect with you, whatever. And then Moira. Moira was there as she always was. Always busy with her work but always listening to you in her own way. 

But you still missed the others. Here, right here, with gauntlets draped over your side and barely poking into you, you could be honest with yourself. You missed Genji, and you missed Tracer, and Winston… you missed the past. They had been everything, they’re what you lost. Your identity and your supports just. Gone in a flash. And yes you had new ones, yes even Reaper, his hand close enough to grab if you wanted to. But you were allowed to miss the old days. If you didn’t, then what was the point of hunting down everyone who had destroyed that happiness. 

Maybe you would grab that hand. Maybe you would pretend like your friends were the only ones you missed. At least they were still alive. At least you weren’t haunted by the past. 

Three fingers. Was that holding hands? Three fingers hooked across his curled hand, just barely enough contact to keep your hand suspended just beneath his. Enough to keep you from remembering other fingers laced through yours, or hands around you, or smiles or… You didn’t mourn the dead. You mourned the wreckage of your life that you kept having to rebuild but never the dead. You can rebuild yourself. You can’t bring someone back to life. 

“I don’t want to sit here forever.” You squeeze at his fingers, pleased when Reaper squeezes back, “It’s, I’m done doing it. Someone give me a job I have to do something.”

“I have a few people you could kill.” Sombra called out, spinning in her chair, “Or do you feel like destroying a few databases? I have all the info I need off of them.”

You used Reaper’s hand to pull yourself up, releasing his fingers to perch at the edge of the couch with a grin. “Let’s smash those databases. Sounds like a great replacement for therapy. Want to come with Boss?”

“Someone has to keep you under control.”

“And you think that’s you? That’s cute.” You winked, pushing yourself to your feet and stretching. You felt like crap. A nap would probably be a good idea but if you got into bed now you wouldn’t get out of bed for a week. And that wouldn’t be ideal. You had things you wanted to do, people you wanted to see, schedules you wanted to fuck up with your presence alone. Try to get to that meeting now, motherfucker.

You stole Sombra’s soda off her desk, grinning as she half-heartedly whacked at you before pointing at the screen. “Thief, this is the building, and these- are the schematics.”

“Doesn’t look complicated. Turn here and here?” You reached to poke the screen, earning yourself more hand smacks.

“What’s the security like?” Reaper placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Not too bad, they have no idea I’ve been poking around.” The maps were replaced with live video feed, the cameras scanning somewhat empty halls with only the occasional view of a uniform walking around with a flashlight and a very imposing walkie-talkie.

“Are you the distraction this time?” You stepped away from the screen but not out of his grasp. You didn’t need much more prep. It was a simple job, go in and destroy. You were so good at that. So desperately good at that. It was the only thing in your resume and you had it in large print, bold. You waited for Reaper’s slow deliberate nod to beeline for the hangar. Out of the sanctuary of limited stimuli and into the world as harsh and bright as you were. You fit in so well here. A fire breathing entity in a sea of shadows and claws. Like the set still curled over your shoulder, a looming chill that scattered people out of your way and kept the heat from rising to your head. 

Were you touch starved. Is that why you relaxed under his touch, why you closed your eyes and leaned on his side during the entire flight. Maybe you just liked the cold. Maybe you just needed a good long vacation in the deep snow. You could get assigned somewhere out in Russia if you asked nicely. Ogundimu would probably let you go without much question. You could make snow angels while you burned down forests. Would that help?

Reaper released you to go chase down guards. You hunted one yourself, slamming his head into the wall so you could take his stick. Reaper drew them away from the server room and your route was clear.

The room was empty. Cold, but not cold enough. You could feel the heat humming off of the servers, hear their fans quietly whirring. It was dark. There was a camera, one that you smashed, shattered on the ground. And then you took your stolen stick to the first tower rack. You could burn them all, yes. That would destroy it. That would satisfy the mission. But you weren’t there to satisfy parameters on a mission log. You were there to… to do what you did. To be who you were. To get angry, to strike again and again. The stick broke too soon. You pulled one of the servers from the rack and tried using that instead. More satisfying but far less successful. 

15 minutes. That’s exactly how long you were in the server room, smashing servers piece by piece. It was too long. Alarms had to have gone off by now. Law enforcement was on its way. People knew that someone was there hurting people and destroying property. You were taking too long and moving too sloppily. You expected Reaper to be annoyed, to order you to burn it and move on. But he didn’t. He watched you for another five minutes. Silent. Still. When you stopped swinging the latest box, he approached behind you and gently grabbed your upper arms. He leaned closer and murmured into your ear in that ever-familiar growl of his.

“Burn the place. You’ll be fine. We’ll head back to a training room if you still need to hit something.”

“Are you volunteering?”

“Not like I don’t deserve it.”

You laughed, dropping your head against his shoulder and almost immediately regretting it. He was wearing body armor. Very hard body armor. Your poor forehead. You snorted and tried rubbing the soreness out while flames started up around you. The fire moved fast and the smoke was thick, dark, almost competition with the shadows Reaper wrapped around the two of you. You trailed your fingers through his shadows. Didn’t feel all that different from smoke. Felt familiar actually. Comfortable.

He was comfortable. It took fucked up powers to really understand fucked up powers, you supposed. 

You wanted to rest your face on your shoulder again, to just sit there and process, but 20 minutes was long enough. 20 minutes was time to leave. Time to take his hand and lead him out. Time to notice how he carefully curled his sharp tipped gloves around your hand. Time to notice how he kept one shotgun drawn and his head turned away from you. Trusting you to lead the way. Trusting you. You focused on that trust. How you had it whether or not you deserved it. How you wanted it so badly. If you had what you wanted, what were you. What was fire with nothing to feed it.

A gunshot shook you out of it. Seems like some of the guards had actual teeth. But you and Reaper had more than teeth. You set the guards on fire, releasing Reaper so he could follow after you and finish them off. The entire complex was up in dancing lights by the time he returned to you, his movements seamless in your sea of smoke. Another set of buildings reduced to ash and rubble. You did feel better.

His hand was back in yours. You didn’t remember reaching for it.

You felt a lot better.


End file.
